


Professor Hotchner

by goobzoop



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Ball Gags, Body Writing, Brat!Spencer, Butt Plugs, Collars, Daddy Kink, Dildos, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fake BDSM, Fluff, Hitting, Kinks galore, Love, M/M, Manipulation, Possessive Behavior, Public Sex, Punishments, Rape, Rape disguised as BDSM, Slurs, Spanking, Spencer makes all the wrong choices, Spencer/Hotch is endgame, Stockholm Syndrome, Toxic Relationship, UnSub!Aaron, Whump, aaron is an asshole, crawling, cursing, hurtful language, sensitive topics, tasks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:27:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 35
Words: 94,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26372692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goobzoop/pseuds/goobzoop
Summary: Spencer isn't used the the word 'no'. But, oh, he'll learn. His Abnormal Psychology Professor is going to make sure of that. Professor Hotchner is going to make himsucha good boy.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid, Spencer Reid/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 636
Kudos: 460





	1. Suit-and-Tie

**Author's Note:**

> Please be advised that there are sensitive topics in this fic that make an appearance starting at chapter 3!
> 
> If you aren't okay topic of rape then you should probably not read this because it is explored in detail. 
> 
> And ik Spencer is a little bit OOC in terms of personality in this chapter, but he gets more canon soon. This is just AU bratty Spencer
> 
> With that said, I wish you guys all happy mental health and ily all. Thanks for reading. Gz

_"There's more beauty in truth,_

_even if it is dreadful beauty.”_

― John Steinbeck, East of Eden

* * *

Spencer fingered the wad of crumpled dollars in his pocket, antsy for a coffee, and tried to focus on Ethan’s story. He couldn’t, though, not with the idiotic conversation going on in front of him. 

“That makes _no_ sense,” he muttered under his breath. Ethan rasied an eyebrow at him, but he kept on, “Is this guy even listening to himself?” 

A mere few inches ahead of him in line, a flannel-clad postgrad spun his head around and squinted at him in disbelief. “Excuse me? What did you just say?” 

Spencer’s eyes went wide; he squished the wad in his first. “I just, uh, your thesis doesn’t, it’s not very well thought out.”

Flannel glared at him. “Listen, you twerp, what do you know about it?” 

“Clearly I know more than you. I mean, based on what I heard,” he scoffed.

Flannel’s nostrils flared and he lunged forward. “You better watch your mouth, you little shit!”

Spencer stumbled back into the girl standing behind him, and reached out to break his fall, sending bills and quarters flying everywhere. Ethan grabbed his arm and righted him. “Watch it, Spence! What are you doing, dude?” 

“Ha! Jesus, kid, you fucking mouse.” 

Spencer set his eyes on Flannel who was grinning like a shark. “What, you can’t be _so_ daft you don’t realize you’re entirely wrong, can you?” he said, his heart racing, “How embarrassing is it that your entire dissertation is based on something that doesn’t even make sense? Your Professor must think you’re a joke. I don’t even study Economics and I know it’s crap.”

Ethan tugged at his arm, but he shrugged him off. 

“Yeah, big words coming from an idiot freshman,” he spat.

“I’m not a—”

Ethan squared his shoulders and stepped forward, looking up. “Hey! Don’t talk to my friend like that! He’s got more degrees than you’ll ever have!” 

“Don! C’mon, stop!” The girl at Flannel’s side said, clutching his arm. 

“Yeah, okay, this little shrimp? What, did your mom just drop you off yesterday?” 

‘Don’t you _dare_ talk about my mother!” Spencer hissed, his eyes darkening, “You’re the fucking idiot! You’re so full of shit!”

“Woah, no, Spence– Come on, dude, uh, let’s go–” 

“I bet your mom is such a slut she let half the campus hit her from behind after she dropped you off,” Don smirked.

“Fuck you! Ethan, let go of me!” Spencer yelled, breath heaving.

“Don!” The girl stomped her foot on the ground, ”Don’t antagonize him! That’s that _kid_. The genius one.” 

“I don’t care who it is.” he said, eyes boring into Spencer. 

“He’s not– he’s– come on, Don, please? Let’s go. Leave him alone. He’s weird, he didn’t mean it.”

“Hey! Spencer is not weird!” Ethan narrowed his eyes at her. “And who are you, anyway?”

“That’s my girl, so you better back up,” Don barked. 

“He’s been here for _years,_ ” she frowned, “That’s a little weird. Why don’t you just graduate already?” 

“I have graduated! I have two bachelors! And I’m working on my PhD!” Spencer huffed, “And that’s more than you’ll ever have with that thesis!” he crossed his arm over his chest, looking at Don. 

“You need to stop butting in about things you have no idea about. I’ve been studying Economics for 6 years now. I don’t care if you have a PhD in being a freak. You can go fuck yourself.”

How could Don even try to defend such half-baked ideas? They were about as put together as the colosseum. Modern day. 

“Oh yeah? Then tell me why, if you know so much about it, are you trying to defend that market liquidity has anything at all to do with the macroeconomics of constructing a compository liquidity index? I mean, what? You could at least bother to argue a dynamic factor model if you’re going to go through with that.”

The girl rasied a brow, and Don set his jaw. Before he could open his mouth, she was looking up at him and whispering, “Don, that actually makes sense about the factor model…”

Don clocked her with a stare that could kill. 

Ethan shuffled up close whispered close in his ear, “Let’s go, Spence, _now._ ”

“Eth– hey, ow, let go!” 

“No! Let’s go! Aren’t you supposed to be in class right now, anyway?”

Spencer paled, looking at his wrist watch. “Oh, shit. I missed Abnormal Psych!”

. . . 

They went back to the dorms with no coffee.

The next day when he showed up to his Abnormal Psychology class he took a seat towards the back of the hall. From there, he was elevated well from the stage and had a good view of everything going on. The lecture hall was moderately sized, but the class was relatively small; only 20 other students shuffled in. 

The Professor was the cookie cutter image of bureaucracy: straight laced, clean cut… bland; dressed in a black suit, a black tie, and short black hair to match. Probably marched to the drum of the UTC. His face was a blank slate as he rifled around with papers on his desk, and wrote out a few concepts on the white board behind him.

He picked up with the lecture, or rather the introduction, right on the start of the hour- maybe even down to the second.

“Nice of you to join us today, Mr. Reid,” Suit-and-Tie said. Spencer could feel the entire class’s eyes bore into him, and fuck, okay, he could see that smug curl on the right side of the Professor’s lips. “I wasn’t sure you were going to bother showing up.”

Fuck _that_. Spencer wasn’t some lackluster student. He was a blithering genius and he made it to class every single day. Barring… yesterday. Usually. The Professor ought to know that. But there wasn’t any way to prove that, not really, and Spencer knew the value of not making yourself sound like an idiot with no proof to back yourself up. 

He had to eat up that stupid little grin.

God. _Damn._ It. 

“There’s no excuse to miss class, barring emergencies, like a death in the family. Otherwise, you’ll be losing 20% of your grade,” Suit-and-Tie said, leaning against the desk up front. Spencer looked down from his seat in the back. “What emergency prevented you from turning up to _my_ class?” 

Spencer looked around, and damn it, he didn’t want to admit the real reason. “I... Well, I, there wasn’t—“

“No, I didn’t think there was.”

 _Asshole!_

“You have no idea what’s going on in my life,” Spencer retorted, sitting up straight at his desk. 

“Oh, really?” Suit-and-Tie raised an eyebrow, “Why don’t you enlighten me?” 

Spencer huffed. He didn’t know why he began this because it wasn’t going to end anywhere productive. Not for him, at least. Since when did he start arguments that he didn’t have any basis in? It was like he was 16 again, not caring whether or not he was _right_. Pure emotion-driven conflict. Good going, Spencer. 

“It’s really not any of your business, _Professor_ , what goes on in my life outside of this classroom. I was late, and I had good reason, that’s all there is to it. You can take my word for it or not. Doesn’t change a thing.”

“You’re right; It doesn’t change a thing.” he tutted, “And I don’t take your word for it.” 

“Excuse me?” He threw out.

“I don’t take your word for it.“ he crossed his arms. “Do you want me to repeat myself a third time, or have you understood it yet?”

Christ, so he was a dick, then. An arrogant, self-righteous, totally right, _dick._

Why wasn’t he backing down like the rest of his teachers? Didn’t he know who Spencer _was?_

Spencer looked away towards the door. He could still feel everyone’s eyes on him. “Fine. I don’t care.” 

“And?” He stood down by the podium so still. 

Spencer looked over. He couldn’t help it. “And, _what?”_

He looked pleased. “And you won’t skip again, will you?” 

Spencer wanted to say a lot of things right then. Like, _Fuck you, yes I will_ , or _Now I will_ , or _If I don’t just drop this stupid class all together!_

“I— I” He stuttered.

“You- you. What, cat got your tongue?” he smirked. This time it wasn’t just the corner of his mouth. “What is it, hm—“ he said, looking down at a paper on his desk, like he forgot his name already, “—Reid?”

“I will- I will if I want to!” 

Spencer was red in the face. His Professor, on the other hand, merely dropped his gaze to the papers in his hand and spoke flatly. “Don’t bother coming back to this class if you’re going to continue this behavior.” 

Everyone was _staring._ “I—” 

“What, Reid? Think you can string together a complete sentence, or should we take a minute so you can figure one out?” 

_Jesus Christ!_

“I could speak circles around you, _Professor_ ,” he said. He was rapidly losing control. “You don’t even know that half of it. In fact, I could teach _you_ a thing or two.” 

Surprisingly, Suit-and-Tie didn’t flinch. Not an eyebrow raise, not a twitch of the lips, nothing. Who was this guy?

He walked back over to his desk and sat down. “Oh, you think so? I don’t think I have much to learn about mindless hormonal rambling, but have at it.”

“I’m— I’m _not_ a teenager!” Spencer sputtered. 

“Could have fooled me.”

Spencer flushed as a sea of giggles rolled out among the class; a tension seemingly breaking. If there were ever an indication he was losing, that was it. 

Who did this stuck up jerk think he was? With his stupid iron pressed suit and monogrammed cufflinks looking like a departmental clone. Picking on students in a gross misuse of power. What an ass! An ass with a boring haircut, a manufactured jawline, and a dumb smirk you could tell he was hiding some snarky comment behind. 

Even worse, Spencer didn’t know what to make of him. No obvious tells, no little insecurities, and Spencer could usually pick up on those so fast your head would spin. He was just sitting down there like a marble statue.

Spencer probably hadn’t lost an argument in years. An entire ocean of pent up emotion was threatening the damn that he built around his ego and it was pushing _hard_. He wasn’t going to cry or anything, screw that, but holy hell this man was making him feel like he was two feet tall and shrinking fast. 

“I’m 22! And I have two Bachelors already, and I’m working on my PhD so.”

“Then act like it,” he said, like the argument was over already and Spencer was the only one who hadn’t noticed. 

Spencer only dug in his feet. “That’s actually pretty impressive—”

“Please quiet down, now.”

He coudln’t even see straight. “—And I have—”

“If you don’t quiet down, I’m going to ask you to leave the classroom,” the Porfessor said, pointing to the doors. 

Spencer let out a sharp breath. “an IQ—”

“Out,” he said, his eyes dark. He was still pointing towards the door and scowling. 

“You can’t kick me out of class!“

“Yes, I can.” he said, “Leave.” 

Spencer’s jaw nearly hit the floor. “I’m not leaving! I have a right to be here.”

“Yes, and you forfeited that right after you started getting belligerent in _my_ classroom.” 

Spencer stood up, knocking over his book. “I wasn’t _belligerent_ , I was merely— defending myself!” He was stumbling over his words. How could his Professor be so confident? It was like he wasn’t even trying. 

“You’re the only one here raising their voice.” He said, gesturing to the room, “You were rude, you were disruptive, and I won’t have that in my lecture hall.” 

“I’m not—” he began, but the clock rang out overhead and the students started to file out of the classroom. 

Spencer could feel the Professor’s eyes on him as he stood there. “Well?” he smirked. 

Spencer grumbled. His resolve slipped right out from under him. He picked up his books and marched out of the classroom with a blush that burned hot on his cheeks.

. . . 

The next day Spencer came back to class after shit talking Suit and Tie to Ethan all night. He laughed at all his snide remarks and surprisingly witty nicknames for him, and agreed time after time that yes, he was a complete dick.

This time Spencer would show him just how much he belonged in his class. This time he’d show him how he’s leagues above the rest. Maybe he’d show him that he was leagues above _him_ as well. 

He arrived very early. It was the first time he’d ever felt weird about that. That kind of behavior usually left him feeling pride and a little bit of smugness. 

Today, though, he felt like anything he did would be front page news. Like running away would show that he’s rebellious, and coming early would show that he’s scared. Really, he’s neither, but his Professor didn’t know that. 

He sat down in the front and kept his eyes glued to his notebook. Since he came early, he had time to wipe down his desk with a Clorox wipe, and at least he could have peace of mind today that he wasn’t sitting in a cesspool of germs. And, thankfully, the Professor didn’t notice him coming in, or at the very least he didn’t say anything. 

Spencer sat there and flipped through the pages of his textbook. Within minutes he’d memorized the entire thing and felt pleased. There. Now he knew everything there was to know about this class and Professor Tie could _bring it._ He would kick ass in a little bit of Q and A. 

Professor Suit and Tie still didn’t say anything when the rest of the students came in. He didn’t acknowledge him when class started, nor did he say a word when he began the lesson. So, what, then, Spencer was going to comply like he asked and he wasn’t even going to comment on it? Not even a glance, a nod, or a flicker of eye contact?

Fine! He would participate, then. 

“Does anyone know which part of the brain is involved in fear, aggression, and social interactions? It’s a region that’s been thoroughly implicated in crime and—”

“The amygdala.” 

“Yes, the amygdala. Thank you, Reid. The amygdala has been studied many times over in hopes of understanding its function, and through several neuroimaging studies held by—”

“U of P. They resulted in the theory that not only the size of the amygdala, but the _function_ of it, as well, plays a part in those with psychopathic tendencies. They—”

“Reid, please. Don’t interrupt.” 

“—They—”

“I’m not going to give you a second warning.”

“How can you ask me not to _participate in class_?” Spencer retorted, “I’m only trying to—”

“I know what you’re trying to do, Reid. Don’t interject. Other students are trying to learn as well. Your retention of facts is very impressive, I’m sure, but now is not the time.”

“I—”

“If you happen to have any _opinions_ of your own, we’d be happy to hear them, hm?” The Professor said, looking up at Spencer with an arched brow. “Have you any?”

“Yes. I have _a lot_.” Spencer leaned back in his chair, and puffed out his chest without thinking. “The study—”

“No, not the study.” Suit-and-Tie tsk tsk’ed. “I’m asking for critical thinking. I don’t want to hear you recite facts. I want to know if you can use what you’ve read to form conclusions, or is that too difficult for you?” Those dark eyes shot daggers into him. 

Oh, fuck this guy. Spencer let out a heavy breath through his nose, snorting at his Professor’s arrogance and sheer disregard for his genius. Spencer could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up and his pulse rise. He was getting worked up from just a simple confrontation. No one ever stood up to Spencer like that, though not for lack of trying. Spencer usually knew just what to say to be able to make his opponent feel as dumb as a doorknob, but now here he was feeling like _he_ just might be. And all because of this arrogant slick as shit Professor. 

How on earth could this man twist around Spencer’s words to make them seem like they were just rubbish? He seemed to know the perfect thing to make him lose his footing. And how dare he act like his retention of information was just something to scoff at! Spencer could _critically think_. Spencer could _analyze information_. 

“I’ll have you know, Professor—”

“It’s Professor Hotchner.”

“Fine. Professor _Hotchner_. I’ll have you know that can very well analyze a study. I can do it easily. You just haven’t given me any time—” 

Professor Hotchner stood down near the podium looking way too amused for Spencer’s liking. He was lapping it up, reveling in his outburst. 

“I am perfectly capable of processing information just as well as I can retain it. I can read 40,000—”

“There you go again with the reliance on your innate abilities. I’d rather hear about something that you _worked_ for.” 

Spencer halfway gasped, but mostly just stared back in shock at his Professor. He could feel the hot little pinpricks of every set of eyes in the classroom burning into him. Why did he have it out for him so bad? He was clearly _jealous_ of Spencer’s abilities, and he was taking it out of him in front of the class to embarrass him for it! There. That was it. He was jealous. He _wished_ that he knew what Spencer knew. He wished that he could soak up a book in two minutes flat and remember every word. He fucking wished. 

“Yeah, I bet you wouldn’t like to hear about my abilities, _Professor_. What, don’t want to hear about how I could run circles around your old ass? You’re just a washed up, two-bit Professor who had to settle for teaching a bunch of ‘hormonal teenagers’ instead of making it in the real world. Don’t want to hear that I could learn more than you ever could in just one afternoon? Are you intimidated? Is that why you want me to shut up so badly? Or do you not want to hear it because you can’t bear to hear about something you’ll never be?”

“It seems I’ve struck a nerve.” He laughed, looking around the room and eating up the snickers from the students in the first row. “That’s exactly why we’re all here today, to try to learn about what makes people _tick_. Why Reid here feels the need to lash out when confronted with someone that will challenge him. If you want to get inside the mind of a killer, first you have to understand the mind itself. Basic human traits. 

“You can’t just use me as a lesson!”

“Reactions.” A smug smile. “Primal, emotionally driven, reactions.”

Spencer was _fuming._ He felt worse than he did back when he was 12 and drowning in a sea of adults making him feel like he was both entirely clueless and the smartest kid in the world. 

Without thinking too much, and Jesus, it didn’t seem like he was doing too much of that lately, he grabbed his books and stood up. All eyes were on him again. Maybe they never left. Being the star of the show was upsetting and it got on Spencer’s nerves more than he would ever admit. He huffed, and, making direct eye contact with Professor Hotchner, said he was done with the class and wouldn't be returning. He turned his back and marched right out of the lecture hall. 

That’d show him.


	2. Preamble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spencer n Ethan go for drinks

_"Flirting with madness was one thing;_

_when madness started flirting back,_

_it was time to call the whole thing off.”_

― Rohinton Mistry, A Fine Balance

* * *

“Aaggh,” Spencer groaned, and rolled off his bed. He stretched his arms high above his head and cracked his neck. Within minutes there was a pot of coffee brewing and his laptop open to several research studies. It took another hour before Ethan started to stir, and he immediately buried himself down into his blankets like a mole rat. He didn’t surface for another 10 minutes when he sniffed out the coffee. 

He looked over at the empty pot and pouted. “None for me?”

“Early bird gets the worm,” Spencer mumbled from his desk chair. 

Ethan rolled his eyes and started another pot. It was finally Saturday so they could stay in and not worry about missing anything important. Spencer ignored Ethan for the enitre morning and the afternoon wasn’t looking much better. By now, though, Ethan was used to that kind of behavior and he busied himself easily. He switched between the ps3, computer, and _occasionally_ his notes until he decided to take a well deserved nap. 

Spencer, on the other hand, was deep in concentration over something that he probably shouldn’t have been. Or rather, some _one_. Because Professor Hotchner was stuck in his mind like a piece of double bubble plastered to the underside of his shoe. He just could _not_ shake him. 

So he googled him. All about him. It wasn’t that difficult; there were multitudes of articles surrounding him all over the internet.

 **FBI SUPERVISORY SPECIAL AGENT TARGETED DURING HUNT FOR REAPER**

**BOSTON BUSS MASSACRE LEAVES 8 DEAD; SUSPECT STILL AT LARGE**

**GEORGE FOYETT ARRESED AND CHARGED WITH OVER 15 COUNTS OF THIRD DEGREE MURDER**

**ESCAPE FROM FEDERAL PRISION: FOYETT AT LARGE**

**UPDATE: ONE PERSON KILLED IN RENEWED HUNT FOR BOSTON REAPER**

**FBI SUPERVISORY SPECIAL AGENT HOSPITALIZED IN REAPER CASE**

**EX-FBI AGENT LEFT WIDOWED IN AFTERMATH OF ANTAGONIZATION BY BOSTON REAPER**

FBI Agent… Supervisory, at that… Quite a fall from grace for the man to be teaching college classes now to a bunch of supposedly whiny 20 year olds. Spencer scanned article after article. He took in the entirety of the case that led to Professor Hotchner’s wife’s demise, and the beginning of the end of his career. He didn’t exactly feel empathy for the man per se, but he could appreciate why he might be… an asshole. He’d gone through some shit, that was for sure. 

And there weren’t just defaming or pitying articles about him, either, there were a lot of impressive details about his career, like his humble beginnings, his work as a prosecutor, and his steady rise to the top of his team. It was hard not to be impressed by a career like that. The 35 year old had accomplished a lot in such a short amount of time, and had an equal amount of tragedy to go along with it. _He’d lost his wife._ That’s rough. Spencer could hardly even comprehend a loss like that. In fact, he really _couldn’t_ process that. Spencer has hardly had a relationship, much less been in love, or even lost someone. He thought it certainly was sad, but, like, Spencer was never too good at putting himself in someone else’s shoes. Empathy was hard with little life experience. 

He was a little pissed that there weren’t any scandals surrounding him that didn’t end in sympathy. No cheating on his wife, no dirty-cop business, no secret serial killer alter-ego. He was just a stand-up man with a strong sense of justice and a devotion to his family and his team. Absolutely no fun, and no room for blackmail. 

He’d also lost custody of his son to his sister in la— _“Enough!”_ Ethan whined, and shut Spencer’s laptop, crushing his fingers in the middle. 

“What the hell, Ethan!?” Spencer yelped. He shot Ethan daggers, but it wasn’t effective. Ethan looked pleased with himself. Very fucking pleased. 

He was probably the only one that could get away with bossing around Spencer without severe repercussions. 

“I just… I wanna hang out!” 

“We _are_ hanging out.” 

“No, like, I wanna talk, or do something, or go somewhere, I don’t know! I don’t want to sit around while you stare at your computer and read articles, dude! I wish I never even forced you to use that thing anyway.” 

“But I like reading! I want to read,” Spencer pouted. 

Ethan took his laptop and put in on the other side of the room. “If you expect me to hang around all the time, you’ve got to do some stuff that I like too, y’know.” 

“I do lots of stuff you like!” 

He raised his eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Like… like how we went to Emily’s party last month! God, that was _horrid._ “

“Yeah, LAST MONTH!” Ethan groaned. 

Spencer shrugged his shoulders, and leaned back, tilting his chair dangerously low.

“I wanna meet up with JJ and Will.” Ethan declared, a hopeful sparkle in his eyes. 

“Eeehh…”

“And you’re coming.”

“Eeeeeehhhh…”

“And if you don’t agree…” Ethan said, as he came up behind Spencer and grabbed the rim of the chair in his hands, “I’m gonna tip you over, jackass.” 

“Hey—! You let go! Right now!” Spencer flailed his arms and nearly fell out all by himself. 

Ethan tightened his grip. “Then come with me!”

“No!”

“Yes!” Ethan pushed down the chair and the wheels started slipping. 

_“Aa-!”_ Spencer gasped, “Ethan!”

Ethan hummed slightly and pushed down a fraction. 

“You let me up now! Fuck you!” 

He didn’t, and Spencer kicked his feet forward to get momentum and planted the wheels of the chair back on the ground. “You dick! You could have hurt me! You’re insane!” 

“Oh, please! I wasn’t going to actually crash you into the floor. I was just scaring you, ” Ethan grinned, “And it worked.”

“Fine, whatever. But I’m still not going.”

. . . 

At half past six, Ethan pulled Spencer through the dingy doors of one of the only bars near campus. It was filled to the brim with underage students, townies, and boozy regulars. The lights were low and music hummed distantly in the background, a pop song that was constantly on the radio.

JJ and Will were seated in the back, tucked close together and Ethan slid into the booth beside them with a big smile on his face. Spencer unceremoniously plopped down beside him and waved at the pair. He didn’t talk much to them; only when Ethan dragged him out. He didn’t talk much to anyone. Just Ethan and anyone he could debate with, that sort of thing. 

JJ and Will were nice enough. They gave Spencer the eeps (because everyone did in almost any social situation that wasn’t based around school) but they were tolerable. When people expect him to start talking about his feelings, or gossip, he just wasn’t equipped for that. Nothing really came to mind. It was nearly the only time that he couldn’t be sure of himself or what he thought. Social interaction was uncomfortable and unnecessary and he wanted none of it. 

But Ethan made sure he got a steady dose. Kicking or screaming, he pulled Spencer out every month or so for some peer to peer interaction. 

“Spencer! It’s been forever! Where’s Ethan been hiding you, huh?” JJ laughed. She was sipping on a brown drink and smiling at him.

“I, uh, I’ve been pretty busy lately. He hasn’t been hiding me.” 

Ethan nudged him with his shoulder. “Oh please, Spencer’s been holed up in the library day and night since you last saw him.” 

“Wouldn’t expect anything less,” Will chuckled. 

“So what have you two been up to?” Ethan wiggled his finger at the couple.

“Well, we just got back from New Orleans. Will took me to meet his family,” she said, smiling and turning towards will, “It was great.” 

Will looked back at her with the same amount of cheesy love-stuck passion written all of his face, and tossed his arm around her shoulders. “Yes, it was.”

“You guys are _gross_ ,” Spencer mumbled. 

Everyone pretended not to hear. 

“I’m so happy for you two,” Ethan said, “I just got to find myself a nice girl, right, Spence?”

Spencer shook himself from his thoughts. “Hm? Yeah, I guess.”

“Spencer doesn’t share my plight.” Ethan rolled his eyes. “He’s way too into books to care about the fairer sex.” 

JJ tsk-tsk’ed, and Will chuckled lightly. 

“And he’s a shit wingman. I mean, who uses the periodic table to talk someone up?” Ethan grinned. “You need to tell them about my huge muscles, Spence, or, like, my impeccable music taste or something.”

Spencer scoffed, “Your ‘huge muscles’ should be able to talk for themselves.”

“He’s not wrong,” Will said, raising his eyebrows. 

JJ reached over to ruffle up his hair. “You’ll find someone, E, I’ll wing-woman you any day.” 

“Yeah? I’m going to take you up on that!” He turned to Spencer and nudged him to get out of the booth. “I’m gonna go grab us some drinks, okay? What’d you want?”

Spencer stood, looked over at JJ and Will, and felt a little bit of dread at being left alone with them. He put his hand down on Ethan’s shoulder, blocking him from getting up. “No, no. I’ll get them– let me. What do you want?” 

Ethan raised an eyebrow but relented. “Sour Amaretto.”

“You got it. Be back in a bit.” Spencer slipped through the crowded floor, squeezing in between drunken patrons, and pressed himself up against the bar. It took a while to flag down the bartender, and after what felt like an eternity she was pressing two wet glasses into his hands. Spencer said thank you, and turned to hurry off– he didn’t want to be up in the crowd any longer than he had to. 

When he turned around, he knocked into a man in a corduroy blazer and spilled his drink on the back of it. “Oh fuck—!”

“Yo, watch where the hell ya goin’!” 

“Yeah, I would if you weren’t standing, like, _two_ inches behind me!” Spencer retorted. His cheeks were heating up and he felt incredibly embarrassed. 

The corduroy man’s face twisted up in anger and Spencer tried to back up but he hit the bar. “Oh, yeah, kid? You got a problem with that? Tell me what the fuck you gonna do about it then?”

Spencer stuttered something, and looked around, maybe for Ethan to pop up in some sort of teleportation miracle (which he would totally have to investigate the merits of at a later date), but he wasn’t there. It was only Corduroy staring him down with a vein bulging out from his forehead and— _shit_. Just to the side, not even two people down, was fucking _Professor Hotchner_ of all people, and he was staring right back at him with his piercing eyes. They darted from him to Corduroy and back again, and before Spencer could say anything, he was up on his feet and coming over towards them!

“Can I help you, Sir?” Came that stupid, arrogant voice. 

“What, who are you? Screw off.” 

“I—“ Spencer choked out.

“Hotchner,” he said, standing taller than cordory, “And who are you, yelling at this young man?”

“This isn’t any of your business, bud,” Corduroy spat.

“I don’t—” Spencer sputtered.

“No, this is exactly my business, _bud_ ,” Professor Hotchner said, deadpan, “Why don’t you step down before you get yourself hurt?”

“I’m not the one that’s gonna get hurt here,” he growled, and shot a look over at Spencer who was still backed up against the bar, a thin strip of water now soaked into the back of his shirt. “It’s that little shit that needs to watch out.”

Spencer paled. “Hey! You were the one who—”

Professor Hotchner watched him carefully, his frown deep and apparent. It was analytical, the way his eyes tracked him. “Apologize, Spencer.” 

Spencer flicked his head to the side in a split second, “Excuse you? No! I’m not apologizing to this meathead!”


	3. I'm Sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disturbing content

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: This chapter includes a detailed rape scene. Like, 3k worth. Please proceed with caution. Disturbing /18+ content. This is a very delicate topic and to preface this chapter: Rape is a horrible act. It also, however, can be a real kink for some people (explored in fantasy or in real life consensual ‘non-consent’ play) If you don’t want to be subject to this material then turn around now. Okay, that’s it. Love you guys.

_"When the Fox hears the Rabbit scream he comes a-runnin',_

_but not to help.”_

― Thomas Harris, The Silence of the Lambs

* * *

Spencer paled. “Hey! You were the one who—”

Professor Hotchner watched him carefully, his frown deep and apparent. It was analytical, the way his eyes tracked him. “Apologize, Spencer.” 

Spencer flicked his head to the side in a split second, “Excuse you? No! I’m not apologizing to this meathead!” 

“You knocked right into him. Say you’re sorry. Common courtesy.”

“ _No,_ ” Spencer huffed. He raised up his drink to take a sip, and wished that he were anywhere else but there in that god awful situation. 

“I don’t want his fucking apology, I wanna knock his face in,” Cordoury hissed. 

Professor Hotchner turned to him. “You need to back up. Right now.” 

Corduroy’s nostrils flared as he crossed his arms and tipped up his chin. “Or what?” 

“Don’t make this harder for yourself than it has to be.” Professor Hotchner quirked an eyebrow, and slid out a badge from his coat. His eyes went wide. 

“I— I—” he stuttered, “No. I’m uh, I’m going now. We’re okay, yeah? Yeah…”

Professor Hotchner turned to Spencer and didn’t look any nicer than he did a second ago. 

“I— uh,” Spencer swallowed. This was fucking weird. Seeing his Professor here, talking to him, interacting with him… not at school. _What._

“You should watch where you’re going,” Professor Hotchner said, “and be courteous.” 

“I— what?” Spencer cocked his head to the side. “ _That’s_ what you’ve got to say about that? That _I_ should’ve acted differently? How about that complete asswad that wanted to take my head off just for being squished in this gross crowd.”

“You have to be conscious of the way you act; that’s what I’m saying. Have some sense of self awareness, how about that?”

“ _How about_ you lay off?” Spencer scoffed, “I didn’t need your help.”

Professor Hotchner smirked. “It looked like you were handling it very well on your own.” 

Arrogant son of a bitch. 

“And I didn’t need you to wave your fucking badge around like you’re somebody important.”

“I would say I’m pretty important," he said. 

“No, you’re an arrogant prick with a God complex,” Spencer spat, “Fuck you. I didn’t need your help. I was perfectly fine here by myself.”

“You need to watch your mouth, Spencer. We may be in a bar, but I’m still your Professor.” 

Spencer scoffed. “You may be my Professor, but you aren’t shit! Fucking washed up basket case, couldn’t make it in the field, gotta teach instead? How’s that going for you?”

Professor Hotchner took a step towards him. “And you’re a scrawny kid with a brain too big for his own skull and without the wherewithal to know how to utilize it. You’re just a very smart idiot,” he said, looking indifferent, and that may have been the worst part of all. 

“You— you can’t talk to me like that!” Spencer gasped, “F-fuck you!” 

Without thinking, (why couldn’t he ever think around Professor Hotchner?) he splashed his drink on the front of Professor Hotchner’s white shirt and his eyes instantly went wide with the terror of what he did. 

“I—” 

“You— Why would you—?” Professor Hotchner furrowed his brow, looking down at his soaked shirt. “You little brat!”

“I— fuck, I—”

His Professor reached out and grabbed his wrist so tight he thought it might snap in two. The glasses slipped out of his hands and clattered to the floor, but no one paid any mind to it; they were all too engrossed in their own loud conversations. 

He was pulled through the crowd, dragged into the bathroom. 

“What the—” Spencer cried. 

“Get in the stall,” Professor Hotchner said. His face was set in discontent and Spencer couldn’t read what he was up to. 

“Get your hand off me!” He tried to shake his wrist free.

Professor Hotchner gripped tighter. “You shut your mouth, you little brat.” 

“Don’t call me a brat!” he snapped. 

“I’ll call you a brat if you’re being a brat,” he said, and shoved Spencer into an off colored baby-blue stall, “You need to learn some manners.” 

“No, you need to fuck off!” Spencer said with his voice raised, “I wanna go back to my friends— ow!”

A hand pressed right into Spencer’s back, in-between his shoulder blades, and he fell forward, knocking his shins into the toilet bowl. He reached out his hands for something to grab onto but the stall was barren. They skidded along the wall as he tried to balance himself. “Oh my god—!”

This was the absolute last thing that he expected to happen after he saw his Professor in the bar. How the ever living fuck did he end up being pushed into a dirty stall by a man twice his age? Where did this man get off pushing around his students? If only he could manage to turn around and get a good punch in— that would be _so_ satisfying. And it would most certainly knock that stupid smirk right off his face. 

“Fuck you! Fuck you! Get off me! Fuck— what are you _doing?”_

So much for that punch. 

Professor Hotchner dug his fingers into Spencer’s side and it made him gasp. “Shut up, Spencer.”

“No—!” he moved his waist against the grip and got half turned around before Professor Hotchner forced him still with his other hand. Spencer sent his elbow back into Professor Hotchner’s abdomen and he choked out a gasp before he doubled down on his grip and pushed him onto his knees. 

The floor was grimy and Spencer’s knees got damp with God knows what. ( _Germs!_ ) And they fucking hurt. His face felt flushed and his head was spinning even though he only had one sip of his drink. 

“Get— get off of me! You can’t— You can’t _do_ this!”

“No? I think I can. Seems like something an ‘arrogant prick with a God complex’ would do.”

“I didn’t— I— Fuck! You’re my Professor! You _can’t!_ I’m going to tell the school! I’ll tell Administration! You’ll be fired!

Professor Hotchner laughed above him and looked down with a sly smile. “What, you think they would believe you over _me?_ You, the kid who had an emotional outburst in every single one of my lectures so far, in front of all my students?”

He grabbed a handful of Spencer’s hair and gripped it tight. “No one would ever believe you.”

“Ow! That hurts!” he yelped, ”Yes t-they would! Faculty k-knows me. Faculty—” 

Spencer shut his eyes tight and winced. Professor Hotchner’s grip was pulling his hair so tight it felt like he was going to rip a chunk of his scalp right out. He could feel him get closer behind him, bending down, and then his breath was hot up against his ear.

“Nobody would care, Spencer. Say anything you want. I _dare_ you,” he growled deep and raspy. 

“Fuck you!” Spencer cried. 

“No, Spencer, that’s not going to happen. Not at all.” 

“Please— fuck!” Spencer wiggled fruitlessly in his grasp. “Just— just let me go!”

“You’re going to learn a thing or two about respect tonight,” he hissed in his ear, “Teach you not to be such an insolent little brat.”

“I’m not—”

Professor Hotchner was cold and deadly. “Oh, sweetheart, you are so far out of your depth right now.” 

Spencer choked out a small noise but couldn’t think of a single thing to spit out with his head buzzing like it was. 

“Then you’ll think twice about how you act. Somebody ought to have taught you some manners by now,” he tsk-tsk’ed, “but it looks like I’ll have to be the one to do it.” 

“Please— I’ll— _fuck,_ I’m sorry—”

Spencer was starting to hyperventilate. This man was going to fucking kill him. He was going to punch him, knock him unconscious, leave him for dead. And he couldn’t fight back. Professor Hotchner was twice his age and twice his size and twice his everything. He was a beanpole dressed in a polo. He didn’t have any weight to stand on. He was doomed! 

“Please— please—” 

His head was yanked back, and his words came out strained and breathy. He gasped for air on instinct. He had to suck it in with more effort than he’d like. Professor Hotchner had him up on his feet again and his cheek pressed into the baby-blue plastic stall. 

The hand in his hair dropped off, and behind him Spencer could hear metallic rattling of— of a fucking belt. Professor Hotchner’s _belt._

“What— what are you—?”

Spencer panicked. That wasn’t something that should happen. This was his Abnormal Psychology Professor who was a respected pillar of the state— an ex-agent— he couldn’t do _that_. He couldn’t— _no._

There was the sound of leather sliding. “I’m going to teach you a lesson.” 

“I don’t— I don’t need a lesson— I get it! I’m sorry. Shit, I’m sorry, okay?! I’m sorry I threw my drink on you! I’ll buy you a new shirt!” he squeaked, his voice high and strained. 

“No, it’s not about the drink,” Professor Hotchner said calmly, like he wasn’t affected by what was happening. The belt kept rattling under his fingers. “I couldn’t care less about this shirt. It’s your behavior, Spencer, it’s gone on for too long. I tried to give you enough reprimands, but it looks like that wasn’t enough for you, was it, Spence? No, you need a firmer hand than that, don’t you? Wasn’t enough to be sent out of lecture, ignored, or publicly humiliated, hm?”

“Let me go!“

“Hold still or this is going to be a lot more difficult for you than it has to be.” 

The rattling stopped, and Spencer felt his Professor’s hand come around to the front of his pants and start toying around with the button. He could feel his heart thumping against his chest and the tingling of his fight or flight response kicking in. This man was going to _rape_ him, he realized. He was about to get fucking _raped!_

“You’ve never been fucked up the ass, right Spencer?” Professor Hotchner said in a gritty voice. 

“S-Stop that!” He tried to swat away his hands but they were much stronger, and his pants and briefs were yanked down leaving him exposed down to the knees.

He felt so embarrassed. Like all the blood in his body rushed up into his face all at once and turned it some ungodly shade of crimson. His dick was exposed and hanging there right between his legs like it was nothing. Tears were starting to prick at the back of his eyes, but he blinked them off and sucked in a big breath to try and steady himself. 

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“No— no, okay? No! So let me go—” Spencer yelled at him, and tried to push back against his weight. 

He gripped his side. “That means this is going to hurt.” 

“Please, no—“ Spencer said with a quiver in his voice, “I don’t want—“

“But that isn’t exactly a bad thing, is it? Maybe you deserve a little pain, don’t you?” 

Spencer felt his Professor’s calloused hands trail down from his hips to his cup his ass. Not a single person has ever touched him like that. Hell, not even he has. 

The hand squeezed tightly on his ass cheek and he yelped in response, which elicited a little chuckle behind him. 

“Not so talkative now, are you, hm?” 

Professor Hotchner slid his hand down even further and touched his fingertip up against Spencer’s hole. He rubbed it for a minute before he took his hand off and returned it covered slick in spit. 

Spencer’s eyes were shut tight again and his mind was racing. When Professor Hotchner pressed on his hole he staggered his hips forward, but the finger followed them up and pressed in forcefully. 

“Oh, shit—!” He cried. What a loss of control. There was absolutely nothing he could do to change what was happening. He was pinned down, getting touched in places he hardly ever paid any mind to. Touched in places you _weren’t_ supposed to be touched in. A lump started to grow in his throat as his Professor’s wet finger pulsed in and out of him. 

“Oh, good boy,” he heard close behind his ear, “You’re being so still for me, not fighting back.”

“I-I- can’t,” Spencer whimpered. His stomach flipped suddenly at the name. He wasn’t _being_ good. He _wanted_ to fight back. He wanted to thrash around and get out from under his grip— but there wasn’t any room for him to move a muscle! Professor Hotchner’s hand was pressing him against the stall, and he couldn’t even begin to gain any traction against it. He was paralyzed!

And he wasn’t good. He wasn’t good for anyone. Someone who never had to answer to anyone. Not his deadbeat dad, his far off mother, or anyone else for that matter, and he hadn’t for quite some time. He hadn’t listened to anyone since he left for college, and then punishment became a thing of the past. Spencer wasn’t _good_. He did what he wanted. He didn’t answer to _anyone._

Except he did now. 

“Open up your legs, Spence, wider,” that deep voice sounded against his ear. 

“No—” He tried to resist, but his Professor’s foot kicked his feet out, so he was standing with his legs wide apart, just like he was told. “Ow—!”

“I’m going to make you _so_ obedient, Spence. You’re going to beg for it.”

“I would never—!”

“How many fingers are we at, Spence?”

“What? I don’t—”

“How many? What, the genius can’t count?” 

“I—”

He pushed in farther just then, and Spencer cried out. “You feel that? How many?”

“O-One.” 

“Hmm. Very good. But I think it’s missing something.” He rotated his finger around, plunging it in and out forcefully. “One, what?”

“Fuck you—!”

Professor Hotchner let off his back, and came down on his ass, smacking it with a loud _clap_. It stung like a bitch. Spencer felt like crying. He knew it was probably an angry shade of red, and maybe even raised up in the form of a handprint. There was no holding back in that slap. That slap was meant to hurt. That slap was a fucking _warning_. So Spencer choked out the only thing he could think that his Professor wanted to hear—

“—Sir. One, S-Sir.”

He _laughed_. 

“There we go. Looks like a little pain will do the trick.” 

A hot tear finally fell down Spencer’s cheek and he sniffed wet and stuffy. This was so utterly humiliating. 

“I wonder how much it’ll take to break you,” he said, and his hand came down again on Spencer’s ass in the same spot. His ass was throbbing. Spencer wished he would have some mercy, or at the very least slap the other cheek where it wasn’t sore. 

“Count as I finger you.” 

“No, f—” Spencer began, but he was met with another angry slap, and he closed his mouth. Then without warning he felt Professor Hotchner spit down on his ass crack and wipe his fingers in it as they slid down in between his cheeks, before plunging in. “Oh—god—! Please— it hurts! I-It burns!”

“Hush, Spence. Don’t want anyone to hear those desperate, whorish cries.”

Spencer whimpered and clenched his fists against the stall. 

“Not going to obey your first order?” Professor Hotchner growled. 

“I’m s-sorry,” Spencer sputtered. 

_Smack._ “Owww! T-two, Sir!”

“That’s a good boy.” Professor Hotchner rasped, and pumped his fingers inside of Spencer, scissoring them open and making him wince in pain when it became too wide. He spit down again to lube his fingers up more, and worked them in farther, crooking the ends, and rubbing against Spencer’s sides. 

“Oh SHIT—!” Spencer moaned loudly, and his head dropped down against the stall with a thud. His Professor laughed behind him and pressed his finger up on the same spot. 

“Oh god— oh fuck— what—” Spencer panted, unable to control himself. “I— uuuhhnn…” 

“Oh, you like that, hm, little brat?”

“I— no.” Spencer’s thighs were trembling. Professor Hotchner hadn’t let up yet from where he was pressing, and the sensation burning sweetly only grew more and more disguistingly pleasurable. “No! Please— I—”

Professor Hotchner moved his fingers, and the sensation was gone, leaving Spencer whimpering. He didn’t know what that was, but dear God, he wanted more of it. It took every ounce of self-control not to beg for him to finger him deeper again; he didn’t _want_ to want it. 

This time when he felt a third finger push inside him, he didn’t hesitate before crying out “Three, Sir,” and behind him came a pleased smirk. 

“That’s right, little slut, and you’re still so tight. Now you get to know what it feels like to be filled up with cock.” 

“N-no—” Spencer moaned. He may have been able to handle the fingers but there was no way he would be able to accommodate an entire cock without ripping in half. Plus it was a _cock._ He didn’t exactly think he was straight, but he didn’t think he was gay, either. Just some sort of indifferent party. He’d never really tried to have sex before; only once or twice trying to get his first kiss which wasn’t really all that spectacular, and having a lackluster hand job one time from a girl with coke-bottle glasses and a pension for not wearing deodorant.

It was nothing like this, only he didn’t even want this either. But he was getting it, though, his Professor would make sure of that.  
This was so intense and raw and _pleasurable_ , that it made him moan like his life depended on it. Guttural, natural, primal— moaning from the pit of his belly. He wanted to stifle it, to shout profanities instead. To tell his arrogant Professor to shove it. To tell him that he couldn’t have him. To tell him _no_. But he’s already said no, and look where that got him. 

And honestly, no one had ever told him _no_ before. Everyone always let him have his way. 

Now he wasn’t getting his way and he didn’t know how to feel about it. Of course it made him angry, and even more chaotic than usual; filled to the brim with untethered emotion, and ready to lash out. But, he just… he _couldn’t_ lash out, not now. 

If he did that now then Professor Hotchner would probably smash his head against the stall or slap his ass again, and his ass really, really hurt. A lot. It probably had welts forming already.

He gulped. He had to swallow down his defiance. 

He had to take his punishment. 

He wished he hadn’t been such a little brat. 

Spencer felt spit dripping down his ass crack again, and he tensed up, because he knew what was coming next. 

“No— fuck, please—no,” he stammered. 

Professor Hotchner didn’t say a thing. A firm pressure was against Spencer’s hole, hot and slightly pulsing. He didn’t get a second's notice before it was pushing in. Spencer screamed out way too loud for a public bathroom, and Professor Hotchner clamped a hand down over his mouth. 

“Shh,” he hissed, before pushing in a few inches. 

Spencer only groaned into the hand that smelled like whiskey and leather, surrendering to his Professor. 

With a grunt, he pushed all the way in, and Spencer thought that he was going to fall apart at the seams. That, or that his ass was going to fucking explode, or break, or die. The cock inside him was much too big for him. Without thinking, he let a few tears fall from his eyes, and flushed in embarrassment when he realized that his Professor would be able to feel the tears run down his hand. 

But Professor Hotchner didn’t say anything about them. He just stalled with his cock buried to the hilt in Spencer’s ass and took a shaky breath before pulling out a few inches and pushing back in. He continued that motion of little thrusts until Spencer stopped shaking, then he started up longer ones that took most of his dick. 

Spencer had to press his hands up against the stall to prevent himself from banging further into it with each thrust. “P-pleauuh- oh gohh- yoh cohn do thuu!” Spencer cried into the hand. 

“This is what bratty little boys like you get when they speak out of turn, Spence,” his Professor said through gritted teeth, “Insolent little boys with bad manners. Boys who need to be taught a lesson.”

“M’ssurh,” Spencer sobbed, “Neeeeuhhha-ooh— lehh mh goh”

The thrusts kept coming and coming and coming. He was getting pounded hard, and he had to take it all. 

So he let himself cry. And his tears fell down. Moans that escaped his lips but were muffled by a calloused hand. He gave in to all of it. The pain, the sadness, the unwated pleasure. He just let himself _feel_. No more thinking. 

Then Professor Hotchner must have been pleased, or maybe it was just luck, good or bad he wasn’t sure, because he hit right into that sweet spot and everything went fuzzy and his ears rang. There was complete and utter bliss coming out of every pore in his body; he never wanted it to end. His Professor’s hips still slapped against him at a brutal pace, but all he knew was rhythm and pleasure. Fucking hell, he didn’t have to do anything but take cock. Over and over and over. That’s all there was. 

His dick was twitching, standing at full attention, and aching with want. It was so hard that it was starting to get painful. Then the thought came into his head like an itch. He needed to get off. He needed to touch himself, relieve the pressure. 

So he balanced his left shoulder into the stall to take most of his weight, and let his right hand grab his dick to start rubbing. His mouth fell slack as he started jacking himself off.

“Oh, hell no,” Professor Hotchner grumbled, and pulled Spencer’s right arm behind his back, twisting in an uncomfortable manner. “Bad boys don’t get to touch themselves,” he hissed, “You think you deserve that?”

Spencer moaned into his hand. 

“Not after the way you’ve acted.” He thrust his hips up forcefully and Spencer hit against the stall. 

“Mmmuuh—!” he groaned. 

Then the door to the bathroom banged open and Ethan’s voice filled the room, “Spencer…? Hello? You in here?” 

Professor Hotchner gripped his hand tighter over Spencer’s mouth and leaned in close behind his ear, his lips brushed up against Spencer’s hair where it clung with a fine layer of sweat. “Don’t you dare say a word,” he warned.


	4. Please...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: more rape in this

_"It is strange, but living is constructing future memories_

_Right now, here in front of the sea,_

_I know that I am creating small memories_

_that someday will bring me melancholy and despair._

― Ernesto Sabato, The Tunnel

* * *

Spencer trembled under the threat. 

“Spencer, you in here?” 

Ethan’s footfalls came in closer. They could hear him open the stalls before them; he groaned and mumbled under his breath. “ _Fucking dick ditched me…”_

Spencer yelped quietly. He wanted to scream out and tell his friend he would never do that. He wanted to bite his Professors hand and yell that he was right there. But he also didn’t want to be punished any further, and he really, _really wanted to cum._

He _wanted_ Professor Hotchner to finish fucking him. (No, he didn’t!) He _wanted_ to feel his thick cock slam into that one _spot_. (No!) He _wanted_ to cum so fucking badly that he let Ethan walk out the door and go back to their friends without him. (Come back!)

When the door shut, the hand dropped from his mouth, the thrusting started back up again, and, needy with broken want, Spencer melted into his Professor’s touch. 

“Oh fuckk—” Spencer groaned. 

“Mmh, you enjoying this, you little slut?” 

“Fuck— I— ooh.” 

“I asked you a question, Spencer,” his Professor growled. He slid his hand up Spencer’s chest, coming up to rest on his neck and squeezing lightly. 

‘I— yes. No! No, Sir. God, I—” Spencer choked out. 

“So sexy. I can’t believe no one’s ever fucked this tight little body before, Jesus.” 

“Oh, god—! Right— fuck—“ Spencer moaned out desperately as he had his prostate hit into again, and again, and again. “Let me— let me touch— oh my god, please—“

“You’re not going to cum unless it’s by my cock.” 

“P-Please— no— I need it—“ Spencer begged. And he did, he needed it so bad. His dick was harder than it had ever been before, practically throbbing. Blood was pumping through it a mile a minute, and little beads of precum were sliding off his tip. He wasn’t going to last much longer. He just wanted to let go. 

“Tell me why I had to teach you a lesson.”

“I— you— I didn’t—“

“Tell me, or I won’t let you cum at all.” 

“I— I was being a brat. I talked back to you, I disrespected you— fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry—”

“Oh, now you’re sorry? While you’re moaning with my cock up your ass?” Professor Hotchner hummed. 

“Oh god, yes, yes, I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry, _please_!” Spencer moaned. “I won’t do it again, I promise—“

“Good boy. Cum for me, Spence.” He said, and gripped his neck tighter. 

Spencer didn’t waste any time: As soon as the command left his Professor’s mouth he was immediately shooting out thick white ropes of cum all over the stall. His arm strained against his Professor’s tight grip as he itched to grab onto himself and finish the job. Instead, he just struggled and came. The pleasure washed over him, and he felt buzzing and tingling all over his body. The shame came after; shame, embarrassment, regret. He was lightheaded and over stimulated, still being thrusted into at a steady pace. 

“Fuck, Sir—” Spencer mumbled. 

He felt the hand around his neck tighten enough that he was starting to strain, and he let out a breathy cough. Professor Hotchner’s fingertips were digging into his neck, and he worried there might be prints there the next day. 

The motions started becoming erratic and harder, and then they stilled. He felt a warm, wet pressure in his ass and realized that he was just cummed inside. 

His Professor just finished in his ass.

“Mmh, so tight.” He mumbled, and pulled his dick out of him. He felt the loss of it and whined involuntarily. Not even a half hour ago he’d felt like he was splitting in two, and now he felt so good and full.

Plus, he could feel a warm dribble down his thigh. Ew. 

“Ah. Spencer.” Came that deep, gravely voice behind him. “Fuck,”

“S-sir.”

“Jesus, Spencer. I didn’t , I—“

“I’m sorry,“ Spencer whined, and let his arm fall to his side as his Professor let go, “I-I shouldn’t have-“

“Oh god. Spencer. Damnit. I didn’t mean—” He backed up against the side of the adjacent wall. “I lost control of myself—”

“It's m-my fault, I sh—”

“No. I screwed, _Jesus,_ I screwed my student,” he whispered harshly. 

“Yeah…” Spencer turned around and couldn’t look him in the eye, instead hanging his head. 

“Can I— come here, Spence,” he said, “Is that… okay?”

Spencer nodded and took a hesitant step towards his Professor. The stall was small, and he stood right up in front of his chest. Big arms wrapped around his shoulders, and he let Professor Hotchner pull him in tight. God, it felt so good to be hugged. The suit smelled like whiskey and leather, just like before, but also fabric softener and apples. He took in a big breath and let it out against his chest. It wasn’t so weird letting himself wrap his arms around him, either, and he only vaguely thought that he might get punished for it, because he didn’t know what his Professor would deem appropriate or not. But Professor Hotchner didn’t say a word. His grip tightened around Spencer and one hand curled softly in his hair; the most reassuring hand he’d ever felt. Playing with his hair felt like absolute heaven. A stark contrast to having just been forcibly fucked into the wall. 

“mmmhh,” a little moan slipped out from his lips, but was muffled by the sweet smelling suit. 

“Oh, Spence. You were… such a good boy.”

Spencer sniffed and suddenly felt like crying again. Except this time it wasn’t from embarrassment, or pain, but because he felt so utterly overwhelmed. Like he just came off a roller coaster and his head was still strapped in the seat. 

“Ah, no. It’s okay, Spence. Shhh.” He combed his fingers lightly in his hair. 

“I— I’m s-sorry…” he babbled. 

“It’s okay, Spencer. You’re forgiven. You learned your lesson. Now it’s over. Shh.”

“I w-won’t do it again,” he moaned, “I w-won’t.”

“Yes, you will. But it’s okay. You just need someone to teach you.”

“I w-won’t—”

“Don’t start that, Spence. You were a good boy. Talk back again and you won’t want to know what comes next. Okay?” 

“O-okay.”

“Mmh, okay, _what_?” He said in a soft voice. 

“Okay, Sir.” 

“Atta boy.” He slid his hand out of Spencer’s hair, and backed up. “So good. Now pick up your pants. You look like a whore.”

“I—” Spencer fumbled with the pants down at his knees. 

“Not a word of this to anyone, you hear me?” he said, looking Spencer right in the eye. There was something threatening in that look. He took a step toward Spencer and it caused him to stumble backwards.

Professor Hotchner grabbed Spencer’s chin as he was still cowering under his gaze, trying to button up his jeans, and leaned in close. So close Spencer could feel his five ‘o clock shadow brush up against his cheek, and the heat radiate off his body. “Or so help me, God,” he rasped. 

He pressed in with his fingers. Spencer winced and gulped down his discomfort. Some strange feeling between fear and arousal. He nodded his head sharply and this seemed to pacify him, and he leaned back and straightened out his tie before stepping out of the stall. 

“Y-you’re leaving?” Spencer asked in a small voice, looking up at his Professor. 

His face was cold as usual. Only a faint tinge of redness covered his cheeks. The one tiny remnant of what he’d just done to Spencer. 

“What, you didn’t think I was going to stay, did you?” He chuckled. “Take a look around, Spencer.” 

It wasn’t like he wanted his Professor to coddle him or anything but, shit, he had this aching empty feeling inside, and he felt like his Professor was the only one who could help him fill it. He needed something, he just didn’t know what. 

“No…” Spencer whispered, “I just…”

“You just, what?”

“I don’t know…”

“Go home, Spencer.”

Before Spencer could manage out any more pathetic pleas, his Professor left and in his wake there was just a cold, empty room. Just the silence of the bathroom mixed with faint dripping of a half turned faucet and muffled voices in the background. Absolutely nothing. 

Spencer broke down. He needed something and emptiness wasn’t it. He couldn’t be alone with his thoughts, not now. 

He stifled a sob and ran from the bathroom, not bothering to check his reflection in the mirror where he was sure that he looked a hot mess. Luckily, Ethan was still chatting away in the booth in the back with JJ and Will, and he stumbled up in front of them. 

“Spencer…? What the hell?” JJ squeaked. 

“Dude, what happened- where were you?” Ethan got up out of the booth and did a once over of his friend. 

“I— I was— I went outside for a minute,” Spencer said through teary eyes. _(Don’t you dare say a word)_

“Why…?” 

JJ squinted her eyes. “Did it start raining or something? You look messed up.” 

“I don’t think it was supposed to rain.” Will chimed in. 

“No, it- I don’t know, yeah. Sort of.” Spencer twitched on his feet. 

“Uh, well why don’t you have a seat, Spence?” Will frowned. The mood was weird. 

“No, he doesn’t need a seat, he _needs_ to tell me where the fuck he was for the past hour and why he looks like he was just shit on by an ogre,” Ethan said, not taking his eyes off Spencer. 

“I just— I was— I went outside, I told you! Before I got our drinks. Cause, cause you know how I get... t-there’s so many people in here. I needed some air. And there was, uh, there was this guy outside. He— he” Spencer looked from Ethan’s eyes to JJs and Wills, and he felt so bad for lying. “I got, uh… mugged. This g-guy outside, he mugged me…” 

“Oh my GOD! Spencer, are you okay?” JJ squeaked, sliding to the side of the booth and getting out so she could hug him. 

“I—I’m okay,” Spencer said, smiling small. 

She wrapped her arms around him and Spencer genuinely did feel better. Maybe it wasn’t for what he was claiming, but he really did need that hug. “Thanks, JJ. Really.”

Spencer looked up from her shoulder and saw Ethan’s cold eyes. 

“You were mugged?” He questioned. 

“Y-Yeah.” Spencer sniffled. 

“I don’t believe you.” 

“Why not—”

“Ethan, don’t be like that! He was just _mugged_!” JJ chided.

“I don’t—”

“Dude, what the hell is wrong with you?” Will said with a hard look on his face. “Give the man a hug; he deserves it.” 

Ethan couldn’t deny that he looked shaken up, and Spencer was glad whether Ethan believed him or not, and that his best friend was close and comforting him. It felt so good to be wrapped up in his arms. Someone that cared about him. Someone that was usually a whole lot nicer…

“Ethan…” Spencer whined. 

“Yeah, Spence, Okay,” he said, hugging him tight. “You were mugged. Let’s get you back to the dorms, then, okay?”

“Are you going to fill out a police report?” Will asked.

Spencer turned his head, surprised. “Police? No, no. I don’t need the police. I just need to go home.”

Ethan gave him a sideways glance but didn’t push. 

When they got back to the dorms, Ethan started to let up a little bit. His ego may have been bruised that his best friend and roommate was shutting him out and lying to him, but he did a good job of swallowing it down. He let him fall onto his bed and lie there without saying a word. It could wait. 

Spencer thought about lecture later in the week. He sincerely doubted that his Professor would try anything in lecture if he decided to go, but he was still tempted to keep his word and be done with it. On the other hand, he felt like he had unfinished business. And shit, everything was spinning entirely out of orbit. Spencer had fallen down some twisty, dark rabbit hole and lost sight of the sky. Which way was up anymore?

Ethan wasn’t pleased. He could see the shift in Spencer’s mood but he still had nothing to attribute it to. It was like watching a spool of thread unravel and never seeing who was tugging at the other end. 

The man at the other end was one Professor Hotchner, but Spencer would never tell him that. That was a dirty secret that he didn’t think Ethan would believe even if he did tell. 

Professor Hotchner was a straight laced kind of man. Not the kind of man that forcefully took his male students in the bathroom stall. 

Not the kind of man that made those male students beg. Made them cum on their own stomachs with his cock rammed so far up their ass. Not that kind of man…

But he was. And Spencer knew that. 

And he knew that when he turned up to class, he’d have to look his Professor in the eye and pretend like nothing was wrong. Like he hadn’t just defiled him, and turned him in a blubbering, needy mess.

He’d have to sit there and watch that man dole out his shitty arrogant feedback and all the while bite his tongue, because who knew what he would do if he spoke out again? Would it be worse? _Could_ it be worse?

Making up his mind was easy enough. He’d go to lecture and see what Professor Hotchner had in store. Maybe nothing, maybe something, but either way Spencer had to find out.


	5. HOTCH

_"What does he do, Clarice?_

_What is the first and principal thing he does_

_What need does he serve by killing?_

_He covets. How do we begin to covet?_

_We begin by coveting what we see every day.”_

― Thomas Harris, The Silence of the Lambs

* * *

Aaron was dreading his fourth period class. Images kept flying through his mind of that young genius showing up and making a scene about what transpired on Saturday at the bar. He would have the right. Aaron wouldn’t blame him; he never lost control of himself like that before, not once. He couldn’t believe what he did.

God, he was no better than the criminals he profiled. That scared him. A _lot._ He never did anything non-consensual before, and he never thought that it was a possibility either. 

All of his kinks may have revolved around BDSM and CNC, but that was exactly it: a kink. What he participated in was prearranged, consensual, and filled with communication. 

It wasn't… it wasn’t _forced_. 

It wasn’t something that could get him arrested. Publicly shamed. Tossed in a cell with the key thrown away. 

He was a predator. All because of that snarky little twat with that sexy figure and gorgeous hair… No. No. Not a twat. Not sexy. God, he couldn’t think like that about the kid. 

See? A _kid_. He couldn’t let himself go there. 

It was a dark place. He’d done enough already. If he was lucky the kid would stay quiet. If he was lucky the whole thing would just blow over….

But he wasn’t a lucky man. His past had taught him that much, at least. 

And the kid didn’t leave him alone, though it wasn’t in the way that he thought. He didn’t rage at him, he didn’t cry, and he didn’t shout slanderous accusations from across the room. 

He just sat there. Staring. Burning into him for the entire lecture, like he was waiting for something. He didn’t say a word, not even to ask a question. 

Then it dawned on him that Spencer might be _scared_. He was scared of him. How had he missed that? The kid was only 22 years old. Of course he was scared of the man that was 15 years his senior and in a position of power over him. The poor kid was probably wetting his pants. All he knew was that Aaron liked to criticize him in class, and out of class, well…

It made sense that Spencer was just sitting there in his seat silently. No more making a scene, no more searching for a fight, talking back, leaving early…

It was nice. 

He couldn’t deny that the change in behavior made him feel a certain type of way. Powerful, maybe. In control. 

Spencer was an actual certifiable brat, brought up with no consequences, and Aaron wanted to knock him down to the lowest peg. He wanted that disrespectful twat to break down so low that Aaron could mold him into the subservient boy that he knew he could be. 

He wanted him to learn his place. 

He heard a lot about Spencer since he took this job on campus. Spencer was a hot topic amongst the faculty and the students alike. They were constantly praising his genius ability and finding ways to help him excel. They were so taken by him that they overlooked nearly everything else; all the bad behaviors were excused or pushed off as eccentric. Clearly the kid was lacking an authority figure. It wasn’t just quirkiness that stemmed from his high IQ, it was never getting reprimanded. It was the same as any other kid who craved structure.

It made him irresistible. All of Aaron’s exploits were with subs that only play-acted to be brats. As they should. As is consensual. As is ethical. But Spencer wasn’t playing. Spencer didn’t want to submit. Spencer _was_ a brat. Spencer was the most difficult and audacious student he ever taught and he only had two lessons with him so far. 

He never felt so crazy about someone before. But he wasn’t going to think like that. He _wasn’t_ thinking like that.

He didn’t let himself catch Spencer’s gaze. He knew the kid was looking at him, and he knew the kid wanted his attention, for whatever reason, but he couldn’t give it. He wouldn’t give it. It was too risky. He was done. 

When class ended Aaron left without waiting around. The students could catch him in office hours if they had questions. There was no way he would chance the possibility that Spencer would stay behind. Not a chance in hell.

. . . 

_Nothing_ was the answer that Spencer didn’t know he was dreading. Professor Hotchner had nothing in store. Spencer sat in the front row, and the Professor didn’t look at him once. Not even one time. 

Why wouldn’t he look at him? _After all he’d done_? He didn’t even deserve a glance? 

He was invisible. He was a fly on Professor Hotchner’s radar, and he would be surprised if his Professor even remembered he was in his class at all. 

Clearly what happened at the bar meant nothing to him. Clearly Spencer meant nothing to him. 

He spent the entire lecture obsessing over it: trying to figure out what he was thinking, trying to figure out anything about him. Spencer’s read on the man had been totally thrown out the window since the other night and now he had no idea what to expect. 

Ever since Saturday Spencer couldn’t stop thinking about the way those big hands felt pressed against his back. The way he felt like he had all of his control stripped away. The way he felt like things were stable and immutable and he didn’t have to think. 

With a mind of their own, his feet led him straight to Professor Hotchner’s office after the bell rang. If he wasn’t going to give Spencer attention, then Spencer was going _demand_ it. 

He didn’t bother to knock. If there was a student in there they could come back at another time. Whatever. 

A lanky kid with a green backpack was sitting in the chair in front of the Professor’s desk and was clutching a stack of papers while Professor Hotchner was tapping at a page with his pen. 

Without caring much, Spencer cut him off mid-sentence. “Professor, I need to speak with you.” 

The kid in the green backpack turned around. He had thick black glasses and Spencer recognized him from the class he was just in. They were probably going over the first research paper’s requirements. 

And if he couldn’t figure those out, maybe he should just drop the class, because how much more basic can you get?

“I’m with another student right now, Reid,” he said without looking up, “Come back later.”

“No. I need to talk to you now.” 

“I’m with a student.”

“Yeah, and?” Spencer huffed, turning his attention toward the kid in the chair. “If you can’t even figure this out, well, you’re fucked.” 

_That_ caught his attention. He finally looked up from the page on his desk and met Spencer’s eyes. They were dark and cold and Spencer felt a twinge of fear when their eyes connected, but he held steady. 

“Leave, or I’ll have you escorted out.”

“I’m not going _anywhere._ ” Spencer shot back. 

The kid slumped down in the chair. He was clearly uncomfortable and looked like he wanted to bolt.

“You need to calm down, Reid,” he tutted. 

“I _am_ calm!” Spencer shouted, and green backpack kid flinched. 

Professor Hotchner also flinched, but it was much less noticeable. Luckily, Spencer had his eyes trained on him. 

“I, uh.” He cleared his throat. “Pete, why don’t we pick this up tomorrow afternoon? Can you stop at the same time?”

Pete looked from Spencer to the Professor and back again. There was discomfort written all over his face. “Yeah. Tomorrow is okay. I’ll see you then, Professor.”

He scurried out of the room without hesitation. It looked like he couldn’t get out soon enough, and Spencer didn’t blame him. The tension in the office was palpable. And he was kind of a dick. 

“I don’t know what this is about, but—”

“I think you know exactly what this is about,” Spencer said. 

“Listen, Reid—”

“Oh, so it’s not Spencer now? How about _Spence_? You seemed to like that one.”

“Spencer.” He cleared his throat for the second time. “Spencer, listen. I know this is hard for you, and I want to apologize.”

“For ignoring me?”

“What? No.” Professor Hotchner looked at him with squinted eyes. “For, well. For... taking advantage. Of the situation.”

“Oh, really? Is that what you call me? ‘The Situation’?” Spencer said in a cracked voice. He started to feel his face heat up. How could he dance around this so easily? Why was he acting like it was _nothing_?

Spencer came closer to the desk, planted his hands flat down on it, and leaned over, closing some of the distance between them. “Really rich coming from _you_. I would have thought that of all people, you would know what it’s like to get pushed around. I thought maybe you’d have a little bit of empathy, but no. You just use me up and toss me aside, is that right?

Just like Foyet did to you, didn’t he? Is that why you’re so fucking detestable? Is that why you can chew people up and spit them out like it’s nothing?” He stopped momentarily, and caught his breath. “Is that why you fucked me like a whore, and now you pretend like I don’t exist? Bet you’d love everyone finding out that D.C.’s biggest basket case is actually a huge fucking scum bag. Am I right? Oh, almost forgot— Am I right, ‘ _Sir_ ‘?”

Spencer didn’t care if he was crossing a line. He didn’t care if this was a teacher he was talking to. He didn’t care if he could get reprimanded, or written up, or expelled, because he would never get any of those things. He could do whatever he wanted. And right now he wanted to yell and scream. 

Contrary to how Spencer expected him to react, however, Professor Hotchner didn’t look taken aback or shocked, or even insulted. He looked pissed. Royally and entirely fucking pissed. 

Face red, fists clenched, vein popping out from the upper left side of his head, _pissed_. 

Only then did Spencer wonder if that was a bad idea. But they were in public, so he didn’t think that he was in any serious danger. 

“ _Excuse me_?” Venom slipped off his words. 

Spencer took his hand off the table and stepped back. Professor Hotchner stalked him out in front of his desk. 

“You’d better watch that mouth of yours, kid.” 

“And what if I don’t?” Spencer replied. 

“I can remember a certain someone crying out for it all to stop.”

“I—” Spencer flushed. 

“You think you can traipse around acting like a snotty little brat? Think you know anything about my life because you read it in a tabloid? You’re just a walking talking encyclopedia. Full of information you don’t even know how to use. You brainless little thing.” He came closer to Spencer; close enough to reach out— “You don’t talk about me, or my family. You don’t threaten me, you don’t say a word of _anything_ unless I tell you to.” 

“You’re fucking crazy—”

_Slap._

The air around Spencer’s face buzzed and his face throbbed with a fresh, burning string. His Professor has slapped him! Open palmed, right across the cheek, and it _hurt_. 

“Oww!” Spencer wailed, and brought his hand up to his face momentarily, cradling the red skin softly. 

“Keep your mouth shut, and I won’t have to do that again.” 

“F-Fuck you...!” he sputtered. 

_Slap._ Again, right across the same cheek, and this time Spencer staggered back and looked at Professor Hotchner in horror. 

“You— you sick fucking— you can’t do that—”

Aaron pushed Spencer back, hand connecting on his chest, and he fell down onto the chair in front of his desk. He landed haphazardly with his one leg caught up over the armrest, but it was a lot better than having his red raw cheek slapped again, he figured. 

_Isn’t this what you were looking for?_

_Isn’t this why you came to his office?_

_Isn’t this why you couldn’t get him out of your head, no matter how hard you tried?_

  
  


Yes.


	6. Office BJs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spencer is a blowfish

_"I think we all have a little of that beautiful madness_

_that keeps us walking_

_when everything around is so insanely sane."_

― Julio Cortazar

* * *

_Slap. Again, right across the same cheek, and this time Spencer staggered back and looked at Professor Hotchner in horror._

_“You— you sick fucking— you can’t do that—”_

_Aaron pushed Spencer back, hand connecting on his chest, and he fell down onto the chair in front of his desk. He landed haphazardly with his one leg caught up over the armrest, but it was a lot better than having his red raw cheek slapped again, he figured._

Thoughts swam around in Spencer’s head going a mile a minute. He thought maybe he was going to pass out, and wouldn’t that be embarrassing? And who knows what would happen to him while he was under?

Frightened at having his Professor tower over him, Spencer tried to lean as far away from him as possible. He was scared, but it made him feel small in the best sort of way, though a way he couldn’t quite place. 

“You cocky little boy,” he hissed, “Why did you come back here, anyway? Couldn’t get enough, could you? No, you like the feeling of being put in your place.”

“I—”

“Mmh-mm.” He shook his head. “Bad boys don’t get to talk.”

Spencer’s face twisted up. “I’m—”

“Don’t make me slap you again, Spencer.” He gave him a meaningful look, and Spencer slumped down in the chair. “Good boy. Now if only we could reign in that filthy attitude.”

From the chair, Spencer didn’t react. His eyes followed Professor Hotchner as he moved in close over top him, and shivered as his words came out breathy and hot against his ear. “But we’re going to work on that, aren’t we, Spence?”

Spencer gulped, speechless for the first time that day. 

“I said, _aren’t we_ , Spence? Answer me when I ask you a question.” He grabbed his chin roughly and jerked it up so that Spencer had to look him in the eyes. 

“Yes… Sir,” he whispered, “We are.”

“Good. You’re going to learn that you can’t say things like that to me. No more disrespectful backtalk, or you’ll be begging for forgiveness by the time that I’m done with you.”

He didn’t say a word this time either. He didn’t want to upset him any further. Not only that, but a hot feeling had risen up in his chest when he gave into the demands. Saying ‘Yes, Sir’ felt a lot more satisfying than he imagined.

In fact, he was holding his breath wondering what would come next. He was excited. Anxious, sure, but excited too, and wanting, feeling the same sense of feverish arousal that he experienced last time that he was called a _good boy_ and shoved to agree. 

It was exactly what he came here for. It was exactly what he wanted… wasn’t it?

A thumb slid from his chin, over his lips, and pressed on his mouth hard. 

“Open up, Spence.” 

Professor Hotchner pushed his thumb in when he barely parted his lips and slid it against his tongue. He looked down at the floor, tracing the patterns in the rug, feeling embarrassed, hot, and unsure. 

“Look at me, Spence,” he dragged his eyes up to meet him, “Open wide. Now.” 

With a touch of reluctance, and a landslide of arousal, Spencer parted his lips for him and held his mouth open wide. Two fingers went in and they slid back along his tongue far past the point of comfort. He gagged lightly on them. It didn’t stop, though, Professor Hotchner kept going, jamming his fingers so far back in his mouth that he thought he might choke. He sputtered again and sucked in air, looking up at him with questioning eyes. 

Professor Hotchner pulled his fingers out, dripping with saliva, and wiped them on the side of his cheek so he had spit dripping off his lips, cheek, and chin. His skin was flush and his eyes were dilated to hell. 

He was on a very confusing cloud nine. 

“You like this, don’t you, little slut?” Professor Hotchner said with a smoothness in his voice, “Look how easily you play nice for me.” 

He fucking _smirked_ , and Spencer found that enraging. He considered biting the fingers if they came close to him again, but something in the back of his mind told him that wasn’t a very good idea. 

“I said, don’t you, slut? I asked you a question.”

“Yes, Sir.” 

“Good boy. Get up and lock the door.”

“L-Lock it? What are you going to do?” 

“Don’t ask questions, Spencer,” he deadpanned, “Now get up and lock the door.”

Spencer gulped. He shifted his leg down and rose from the seat, going to lock the door and shut himself in there with a man with no good intentions. If there were ever a time for him to run, this was it. 

He turned the latch. 

“Good boy,” he said, “Now get back here. I want you on your knees.” 

He knelt down on the grainy carpet and waited for his next instruction. It was like being written into the script of a play; he just had to read his lines and play his part. 

Without giving him time to take a breath, Professor Hotchner grabbed his hair and tipped his head back and to the side, twisting at an angle that put a crook in his neck. He pushed Spencer down to the ground and he collapsed on the floor like a rag doll. “Get up.” 

Spencer regained himself back on his knees and this time those big hands were working at the fly of his pants and Spencer laid eyes on the biggest and cock he’d ever seen up close, even though he’d only seen three. His own, Ethan’s once on accident, and now his Professor’s. It was no joke, this one. He was surprised that it’d managed to fit inside him the other day, but then again his ass _was_ still pretty sore. 

Seeing it right in front of his eyes... wow. His own cock twitched in interest and his heart was already speeding up. He probably wanted... oh god, he was going to ask him to blow him. Well, he wasn’t going to ask. But still, Spencer never blew a cock before and this one wasn’t exactly for beginners. 

Professor Hotchner tipped his hips forward and his cock pressed up on Spencer's cheek. With one hand he was grabbing his manhood, and with the other he was grabbing Spencer’s hair tightly again. 

Blood rushed all around in Spencer, unable to make up its mind. To his dick, then his face, to his heart, fuck. Everything was heating up. 

Soft, warm skin trailed along his high cheekbones and past his lips, stopping to rub gently against them. Professor Hotchner was taking his sweet time rubbing his cock all over Spencer’s beautiful face, and Spencer could tell that he was getting off on it. 

“Open up, slut,” he growled, and Spencer complied. He pushed in hard, and suddenly Spencer was full of his teacher. He kept his mouth open as he thrust in and out. Gagging was a very real problem for him and he tried to fight it the entire time. 

When his cock pressed in more than halfway, Spencer coughed, gagged, and tried to pull back, but his head was held firm in its place. Wetness was welled up in his eyes, and his nose started to run. He couldn't see and could just barely breathe. Who knew sucking cock was so hard? 

He moaned and gagged against it, unable to control the way his throat twitched against Professor Hotchner’s dick. No sooner had Spencer shut his eyes tightly against the tears did Professor Hotchner growl at him and instruct him to keep his eyes up and trained on him. 

He looked so… manly. So authoritative and powerful towering above him. His cookie cutter haircut didn’t look so cookie cutter from this angle; it was disheveled and tousled about, all midnight black and screaming to be touched. When did his Professor become so tall, dark, and handsome? When did he become this enigmatic source of passion and desire?

When did he make Spencer want to buckle at the knees? He would have, if he wasn’t already on them sucking him off. 

Professor Hotcner made a sudden jerking with his hips going further down his throat, and he let out a deep moan as Spencer gagged violently. Spencer thought he was going to throw up, feeling a wave of nausea crash over him, but Professor Hotchner pulled out just as quickly, and it subsided. Unfortunately, he repeated this again and again, thrusting down deep into his throat, his grip tight in his hair, and hips pushing hard. Spencer was getting absolutely face fucked and he could barely keep up. He had his fingers clenched tight around Professor Hotchner’s thighs, digging into them in a futile attempt to feel grounded to something. 

Just as Spencer was starting to feel his lightheadedness tip over into something a bit more dizzying, he was gasping for air and eagerly gulping it down. Professor Hotchner started to stroke himself at an erratic pace. 

“Fuck, Spencer, such a tight little throat. Such a good boy opening up that mouth for me.” 

Spencer panted and wheezed below him, still keeping his eyes up on the order, watching him frenzied and aroused. His lips twitched in a smile with the praise. 

“I’m going to cum all over that beautiful face,” he growled as hot spurts of cum hit Spencer in his eye, forehead, and lips. He shot it all over his entire face, and it dripped down lazily in warm white ropes. 

It felt so sticky and warm and Spencer immediately loved it. He felt _owned._ He felt like his Professor was claiming him, marking him, declaring something with the cum he splashed all over the most personal of places. 

He flicked his tongue out over his lips to catch a little bit dripping down. Bitter. It wasn’t exactly what he was expecting, but then again he never put too much thought into what cum might taste like. It was salty and strange, and not exactly bad tasting, but not pleasant either. 

_Slap._

Fuck! There it was again, that sharp sting, and Spencer winced, wondering what he did this time. He looked up again, coming back from his daydreams, and saw a displeased look lining his face. 

“You don’t taste my cum without my permission,” he said, “Only if you’re a good boy do you get it. And you were a very good boy, Spencer, but you need to learn to ask permission.”

Spencer blushed, embarrassed and feeling silly that he hadn’t asked first. He should’ve realized. Everything else his Professor made him do so far had been so restrictive, why did he think he could do that all by himself? 

“I’m sorry…” he whimpered, “I’m s-sorry. I didn’t know.”

He dropped his head down and started to cry silently. His shoulders shook with emotion and his nose got runny and gross. He didn’t understand why he was losing it all of a sudden. 

Professor Hotchner knelt down to be eye level with him and ran his hands along his upper arms, squeezing slightly. 

“Shhh, Spencer, it’s okay,” he whispered, “It’s okay. You didn’t know. _I’m_ sorry, Spencer. I should have told you the rules first. I shouldn’t punish you for something you didn’t know not to do. That wasn’t right. Don’t cry, shhh.”

He took a handkerchief out of his suit and dabbed at Spencer’s eyes. They were messed with tears, cum, and little amber wisps of hair that were plastered down to them. 

“Here, wipe your eyes, Spence.” He motioned to the cloth that he was using, and Spencer took it in his hands. He was still crying lightly and started to hiccup. 

“I— I didn’t m-mean to - _hic_ -, I’m sorry, I’m so, so - _hic_ \- s-sorry.”

“No, no. Spencer, it’s okay. Everything is okay, alright? Why don’t you try it out, hm? Ask me permission. I won’t say no. You’ll feel better.”

Spencer looked at him with wide teary eyes, and didn’t know why he suddenly felt so small and sad. His Professor was being so nice now, and he’d gotten to suck him off and get lots of attention; everything that he was hoping for when he came in here, even if he didn't know it. _This was it._

So why couldn’t he stop crying? Was it because he made Professor Hotchner mad? Mad enough to slap him again, especially after he was such a good boy? All because he wanted to taste him? Why couldn’t he taste him? Wouldn’t a good boy be able to? Why did he have to ask if he was already so good?

But it didn’t matter why. All he had to do was ask, then, and everything would be okay. Right? That’s what professor Hotchner _said._ So he just had to ask, that’s all.

“I— c-can I - _hic_ \- p-please taste y-your cum - _hic_ -, Sir?”

Professor Hotchner smiled. Spencer was brave enough to be making eye contact with him and it made him smile, too. The moment was surprisingly sweet/ Spencer started to feel like things were _okay_ , like he wasn’t just feeling worthless, stupid and _punished_. 

“Yes, Spencer, you may.” He ran his finger along Spencer’s cheek, right under his eye, and gathered some of his own cum, brought it to Spencer’s mouth and he opened up to take it in. This time when Spencer tasted it, it was salty from his tears, but it was better because this time he knew his Professor wanted him to have it. 

“You like that, Spence?” He raised his eyebrows. “You were a very good boy, you deserve it.”

Spencer kept his eyes locked with his Professor. “Yes, Sir.”

“And what else do you say, hm?” 

“I—” He cocked his head to the side. He was puzzled. 

“You say ‘thank you’.”

“Oh,” Spencer mumbled. He felt dumb again, but then he smiled when he saw Professor Hotchenr’s soft expression. “Thank you, Sir.”

Professor Hotchner let him wash up his face, sent him out of his office, and told him to return straight back to his dorm, and he did. He told Spencer that he would see him tomorrow in lecture and that he should expect to stay after class. 

Spencer couldn’t wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for sticking around and reading guys


	7. Spanky Spanky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spencer stays after class. Can you guess why?

_“It is the bullet you don’t hear that gets you.”_

― Greg Bear, Blood Music 

* * *

The next day was hell waiting for class to arrive, and even worse waiting for it to end. Just like last time, Professor Hotchner didn’t pay any mind to him. It was so infuriating that he almost preferred the taunting. At least when he tried to embarrass him and trip him up on obscure details if it meant that he was talking to him. Giving him attention. 

Spencer was finally very, _very_ thankful of his eidetic memory, because he otherwise wouldn’t pay attention in class, (not with him standing there looking like he did, sounding like he did...) and at least he could touch in on this memory in the future if he needed to. 

When class did end, the students filed out and they were left alone. With him in his seat and Professor Hotchner standing down at the podium, a thick silence hung in the air between them. Spencer doubted that he should be the one to break it, but he just couldn’t help himself; it was _torture._ It was begging too broken. It—

“So… what now?” It came out soft, but just enough to reach the podium, because Professor Hotchner sighed in response. 

“You have an uncanny ability to ignore rules,” he said, “Why is that?”

Spencer coughed. Now he wished he hadn’t said anything. 

“That wasn’t a rhetorical question. I want to know why you keep deliberately disobeying me when I’ve been more than clear with you. Or do you not have an eidetic memory like I’ve been led to believe?”

“I— No, I do,” Spencer stuttered, “I just really wanted… I don’t know, I wasn’t thinking. I wanted… to… start.”

“Exactly, you do remember. You choose not to listen. You’re impatient. You’re a weak little boy.” 

Spencer flushed beet red. He _had_ been impatient. He _had_ known better. Everything his Professor was saying was true. 

“Can I— Can—”

“Get up, lock the doors, and sit back down.” 

Spencer gulped. He had to keep his hand from trembling on the locks, and when he sat back down it felt like he’d accomplished some monumental task like biking the tour de France. 

“Tell me, Spencer. Does this turn you on?” He asked, after Spencer was finished. It came out like he was bored; as if he were asking him what his thoughts were on personality deviations in the elderly. 

“Uh, Yes, Sir.” 

“You liked the way I treated you in my office. How did it make you feel?”

Spencer flushed again. How could he answer such an embarrassing question? Something like that he’d rather whisper the answer to in his ear, not say plainly across a classroom. 

“Well?” Professor Hotchner said, keeping his eyes trained on him, “Do you have an answer, or not? We don’t have to continue this conversation if it’s too much for you. You know where the door is.” 

“No—!” Spencer knee jerked out his reply. There was _no_ way he was leaving now. He wanted this. He wanted this bad. He wanted Professor Hotchner close again… showing him… _making_ him do these things. Things he’d never done before. Things he’d never even thought of before. God, he wanted his lips around…

“Spencer?” Professor Hotchner was tapping on his podium now. 

“I, um. I felt the release of the neurotransmitter dopamine as well as nitrogen oxide and noradrenaline when-”

“No, Spencer. Stop. Try again. Tell me using your _feelings.”_

“Mh. Sorry. I, uh, I like it. I definitely like it. I don’t know… it made me uh, feel… good... dirty?” Spencer mumbled, “Uh, Sir.”

Back again with the arrogance, he smirked. “Dirty, hm? Feeling dirty feels good to you, hm?” It was like a game to him, goading Spencer on. “You looked beautiful covered in my cum.” 

“I—“

Professor tut-tutted. “Bad boy. No speaking. I didn’t ask you a question, did I?”

“No, Sir.” He swallowed. 

“Come down here.”

Instead of replying like he wanted to, Spencer silently got up and made his way down to the platform in the front. He teetered awkwardly in front of the podium, scuffling his feet on the ground. 

“Look at you, so nervous,” he laughed, “Where was this boy the other day?”

“Hey— I’m not—“

“No, no.” He shot a cold look at Spencer. “ _I’m_ talking.”

Spencer huffed. He could defend himself at the very least. He wasn’t a nervous boy. He was just, I mean, this was an unusual situation, really, _anyone_ would act off.

“We can start this off badly, or we can have it go as I planned. What I planned is a lot nicer for you, Spencer. The way you’re acting is unacceptable; you refuse to follow the simplest of commands.” 

Spencer huffed again. He was doing pretty well in his opinion. For someone who talked as much as he did, this level of silence was basically a fucking miracle. He felt like a goddamn monk. Talking felt natural; the flow of conversation, human instinct to reply.

“As plann—” he started, before his Professor Hotchner clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. _Rolled his eyes!_ Arrogant prick. 

“Okay, then. The hard way it is,” he said, a coldness in his voice, “More fun for me, anyway. I’d love to see you with a red ass, squirming in displeasure.”

“No! I don’t want whatever th—” 

But Spencer was yanked roughly forward by the collar of his shirt, and he came flush against a finely pressed suit that had a distinctly familiar smell.

“You just don’t listen, do you?” A raspy voice came in his ear. 

Professor Hotchner pulled out his desk chair and sat down. 

“Take your pants down and bend over.” 

“No, really, I’ll listen,” he sputtered, backing up. 

“I’m going to spank you 10 times, Spence,” he said. “15 now, because of how you’re acting. Take your pants down and bend over. I’m not going to tell you again.”

Spencer took a step back and nearly stumbled into the desk. “I don’t want _this_ , that’s not why—” 

“You want this,” he growled. With an ironclad grip wrapped around his wrist, Professor Hotchner pulled him forward. “Bad little brat. That’s 20.”

His pants were tugged forcefully down, and Professor Hotchner pulled him over his knees so that his bare ass was up in the air, and his knees bent awkwardly against the chair. Spencer was too tall to be bent over like that. 

“Oww!” Spencer’s ass was hit for the first time. 

“Count them.” 

“Please, no, I’ve learned my lesson, please-” he begged. 

“You know the drill Spencer. You’ve counted before. And that’s 25 for speaking out of turn.” 

“Aah—” he groaned, “One, Sir.”

“See? Was that so hard, Sweetheart?”

“—Two, Sir.” 

He counted out as his ass got redder and redder with each stroke. Pain laced up his back, and he didn’t get even a moment to recover between strokes. 

“Fuuc— six, Sir,” he whined. 

Spencer’s ass already felt raw with pain and he was only at _six_. He still had nineteen to go. How was he going to survive that?

“C-can I— can I speak, Sir?”

Professor Hotchner’s hand came down firmly on his ass cheek again with a sharp clap before he answered him. 

“Yes, you may. What is it?”

“I can’t do any more, please, I’ve had enough, please it hurts so much. No more, please. I c-can't.”

“You have nineteen left, Spencer. You need to take your punishment. That’s how you learn.”

Nineteen? No, it’s eighteen left now, Sir.”

“No, it’s not. You didn’t count. Do you want me to start over? I could start over for not counting. I was being generous, you know.”

“No! Please. No, don’t, please. Nineteen. Please.”

“We’ll round it out to twenty,” Professor Hotchner decided. 

“Twenty more? Nooo!” he whined— _slap_.

“S-Seven, Sir!” He was far too scared of more punishment to fight him over one spank.

“Good boy.” He said, and Spencer could almost hear the smile on his lips. 

“Owww! Eight—” he gasped. His ass was burning up, hot to the touch. He imagined a red handprint on his left cheek broadcasting his embarrassment. Well, fuck, if he wasn’t in so much pain he’d be embarrassed. But there was hardly any time to think about that in between blows. Over and over, they just kept coming despite how erratic his breathing became and his runny his nose got. That, and he felt like he was going to cry. Already. 

“Twe-enty Two,” he stuttered, “Twenty three.”

“You’re doing such a good job, Spencer.” 

“T-Twenty four— ah.” He jerked witht the sting and felt a piece inside of him snap with the tension. He grinded his teeth together, gritting out the number, feeling his resignation to the punishment. All his anger, resentment, and fear all tangled together sank to a dark depth, only to be replaced by something lighter, something _easier._

“Just one more left, Slut. And when I’m finished I want you to say thank you, tell me what you did wrong, and then apologize. Understand?”

Spencer nodded his head with complaince, but quickly realized he was looking for a verbal answer and choked out a quiet “Yes, Sir” before Professor Hotchner’s hand came down painfully on his ass cheek for the last time.

“Twenty five, S-Sir. T-Thank you,” he sniffled. The words came tumbling out easily, “I wouldn’t l-listen. I k-kept talking. I-I was… I was a brat. I’m sorry. I’m s-so sorry, Sir. I won’t do it again. I’ll be quiet. I’m sorry.” 

“Good boy.” The softness came back in his voice. He helped Spencer stand back up on wobbly feet, and caught his arm before he almost fell to the ground. “Be careful, Sweetheart. We don’t want you getting hurt.” 

Spencer’s head spun for a second. Doesn’t want him to get hurt? Then what exactly did he just think happened? That sure hurt. A _lot_. He could feel the hotness against the cool air, and the pulsation of his inflamed skin. 

Professor Hotchner used the hand around his arm to pull him in close, and Spencer bent down awkwardly as his Professor hugged him. He let his head fall against his shoulder, and again that smell of leather and apples sent him reeling. Just for a moment he felt all better. Happy. When he let him go he straightened himself back up. 

“Professor Hotchner?” he whispered in question. 

With a smile playing on his lips, he looked up at spencer; he was still sitting in his chair. “Yes, Spencer?”

“Well… um. Why are you always so nice after… after, you know…” 

“After I discipline you?” He brought his hand up to Spencer’s cheek. “It’s okay to talk about.”

Spencer nodded. 

“It’s part of what I wanted to talk about with you today before we got off course. But it’s bringing up a good point that I wanted to make. It’s called _aftercare_. I’ll tell you all about it, but you have to be patient, okay? Can you handle that right now, Spencer? Or do you want to take five?”

He shook his head fast. “No, no I don’t need five. I’m okay. It just… hurts. I’m okay. I want to know about what you were going to say.” 

Professor Hotchner smiled and nodded. “Good boy. Okay. Here, you sit down.” He got up from the chair and motioned for Spencer to sit. He did, hesitantly. It still stung to have any contact with his bottom, but he was thankful not to be standing anymore. He was dizzy and spent. 

Professor Hotchner leaned up against the desk next to him. Again, Spencer found himself with his teacher towering over him. He looked up. This time he would wait. 

“I’m going to give you a moment to cool down. You need it.” He was still looking down at him with a stern gaze. It seemed to last forever before he spoke up again. By that time Spencer felt a little less fried. 

“Spencer. Do you know what’s happening here?”

“I, uh… we’re… you’re…” He cleared his throat. “Uh, sex?”

“No, that’s not exactly it,” he said, and brought his hands together, fingers laced. “It’s called BDSM. Have you heard of it?” 

Spencer was sure that he had at some point. He read a lot of things, but he didn’t care to think of it. Instead, he shook his head. He wanted to have it explained. 

“It stands for _Bondage and Discipline_ and _Sadism and Masochism_. It's… consensual play between Dominant and submissive. Me, the Dominant. And you…” He looked down at Spencer. “The submissive.”

Spencer looked back up with wide eyes. This was a lot. He didn’t think he was very submissive, not really, but if he wasn’t, then why was he sitting in his Professor’s chair with an ass as red as an overripe strawberry?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **THIS IS NOT BDSM!**


	8. HOTCH

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy, guys, this one is long and mostly just smut. I was gonna edit it down but then I figured, eh, I'm too lazy. There may also be errors. Also, happy October! Best month.

_“Decent folk had to let indecent folk do their thing;_

_that was the paradox of decency.”_

― Piers Anthony, On a Pale Horse

* * *

Spencer was shaking. Shaking like a leaf. It was almost adorable, if it weren’t so worrisome. 

Aaron wasn’t sure what Spencer wanted. He wasn’t sure if Spencer _could_ know what he wanted. He wasn’t sure if _anyone_ could know what they wanted after… what happened. And if Spencer agreed to his proposition, he doubted that it would be completely uninfluenced by fear.

That wasn’t his intention anymore; he didn’t want to scare him into being his submissive. Clearly, he was, but it wasn’t his _intention._

All together Spencer had an intriguing mix of fear and lust, and Aaron secretly loved it. That was the tipping point for him, the moment where he realized he wasn’t going to let Spencer slip from his grasp if he could help it. Yesterday he was one hundred percent ready to forget about him, but then he came barging into his office practically demanding domination and subsequently crumpling like a leaf. 

He needed that boy, rules be damned. He wanted to dominate him completely. Body, soul, mind; everything. 

It would start with an explanation. A proposition. Hopefully Spencer would agree. If not, well, he could be persuaded. He didn’t want him to run. He wanted him to want it, really, that would be his first choice scenario, but there were a lot of scenarios that he would settle for. 

So seeing Spencer shake like a leaf in his seat made him uneasy. Although he denied that he needed any time to settle down, Aaron knew that he did, and gave him a little a break. After a few minutes of silence where Spencer was clearly self-medicating with some deep breathing exercises, whether it was intentional or not, he deemed him ready. 

The way that he looked at him after he said 'submissive', well, that look was the epitome of submissive behavior. It gave him hope for Spencer, yet. He was clearly submissive at the core, just littered with defense mechanisms and unhealthy coping strategies. 

Aaron still had it. He could profile a penny from the top of the Empire State Building. Spencer was easy. Spencer he could get, with time. Spencer would become his perfect plaything and he would peel him apart layer by layer to get there.

“That’s right. Submissive. Something you are at your core. Anyone could see it if they know how to look,” he said, “And I see you, Spencer. I know what you need. I see the way you respond to me, the way you pick up my cues, how you respond to my dominance. It’s instinctual, to a degree. Maybe you don’t even know you’re doing it.

“And I believe that you have a natural affinity for those clues, too. Following them, recognizing them. Profiling, in essence. I’ve noticed the way that you can pick things up, pick people apart. The way you tried with me; You do it so naturally.”

Spencer was still looking at him and his face was positively enthralled. 

“I digress, though, that’s part of a larger discussion,” he said, bringing his eyes back to him and holding contact, “The fact of the matter is, Spencer, that I want you to submit to me. Become mine.” He looked down at him pointedly. “What do you think? I want to hear your thoughts, not a yes or no.” 

Spencer opened his mouth, closed it, and when he opened it again his voice came out soft and squeaky like a mouse. “Mh… I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if I _am_ submissive.” At this, Aaron tried to stifle a laugh. “But, uh, this past week has been… like the most exciting and uh, terrifying, week of my life.”

He paused for a moment. Aaron could see the gears grinding in his head and gave him time to process his thoughts. 

“But it’s also been… I don’t know how to explain, but like, really grounding? Like I feel like my feet are finally firm on the floor and I know where they’re going.” 

“Why’s that?” he prodded. 

“Because, uh…” 

“Because _I’m_ telling them where to go.”

Spencer’s eyes flashed away from him, aiming directly down at the floor, and he blushed profusely. 

“Mh, yeah,” he said softly.

“Just ‘yeah’? I think you know better than that, Spence.”

His lips twitched ever so slightly. “I mean, yes, Sir.”

“Good boy,” Aaron reached out to run his hand along Spencer’s back. He leaned into the touch. 

Spencer was surprisingly eager. So genuine in everything he was feeling. The fear, the wonder, the eagerness. It was intoxicating to Aaron. He wanted to scoop him up, take him home, and lock him in his bedroom to do unspeakable things to him for days on end. 

But he also wanted him to _want_ to be whisked away, despite how he had started everything with him. That was… dark. Unmeasured. Fueled by pure, what, lust? Rage? He still didn’t know what possessed him that day. If anything, he’s been stern but incredibly kind to his submissives in the past.

He’d have Spencer understand eventually that this was a one-off mistake. Which it _was,_ right?

“I want you to think about all of this.” He gestured around with his hand. “You’re going to go back to your dorm tonight and write down a list of the reasons why you want this, and why you don’t. Go online and read about it, or go to the library, it’s up to you. On Wednesday you’re to think about that list. Thursday morning, you will rewrite it and bring it to class. Understand?” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

“Okay,” he said, “Now get up.” 

“Yes Sir…” He stood. 

Spencer was absolutely stunning, and Aaron knew that he had no earthly idea just how beautiful he really was. If he did, there would be no way he would ever leave sight of a mirror. 

But he made a mental note to correct his posture and fidgety behavior. 

Aaron reached out and ran his fingers through Spencer’s hair. It was a brilliant shade of amber and honey, decorated in the slightest amount of curl at the ends. It settled right above his shoulders. He tucked it behind his ear, making him blush yet again. Gently, he pulled Spencer towards him, where he was learning on the desk, and bent down ever so slightly to press his lips up against the soft skin below his ear. 

He nipped at his neck and quickly replaced it with a kiss. A whimper emanated from Spencer’s lips, so close to Aaron’s ear; it was heavenly. He already fucked Spencer in his ass, and his mouth, but never kissed him, not on the lips, not where it counts. 

He trailed down his neck with wet kisses, pressed up against his pressure point, feeling the blood rushing to and fro. With his right hand he gripped the other side of his neck and held him in place. He bit into the skin, not breaking it but dragging his teeth down along it, and coming to rest at Spencer’s jutting collarbones. He licked at them, loving the taste. 

Spencer felt like a rag doll in his arms. He was pliant and soft, but he was moaning like nothing else. Aaron trailed his hand down his side, and slipped in between his pants and boxers. 

He was already sporting wood. Aaron grinned into his neck. “Eager little slut, aren’t you?”

Spencer’s head fell against his shoulder, and he moaned again. “Yes, sir.”

“Say it.”

Spencer nudged his further head into Aaron’s neck, an awkward dance of embarrassment. “I-I’m an… an eager l-little slut, Sir.” 

“Mmh, yes you are, Spencer,” he growled, “Put your hands on the desk.” 

He moved to the side so Spencer could comply, and he came up behind him with his crotch pressed into his ass. Spencer yelped, and Aaron figured he must still be sore from his spanking. 

Good, then. He would remember next time not to speak out of turn. 

He reached around, unfastened Spencer’s pants, and dropped them to his ankles along with his briefs, leaving him naked from the waist down. Aaron reached out to squeeze the skin on his thighs, so flawless and fair. He trailed a finger along the redness on his ass cheeks and hummed; Spencer trembled under that touch. 

“So beautiful, Spence,” Aaron cooed.

When his hand slipped between his legs and fondled at his balls, he saw Spencer’s fingers grip tighter on the desk. He smirked, gently rolled them around in his hand, and leaned in close, breathing hotly on the back of his neck. “You’re going to be a good little slut for me, aren’t you? Hm? You going to be a good boy?”

Spencer’s breath hitched, and he nodded fiercely. “Yes, Sir, yes, I am. I’ll be a good boy.”

Aaron reached over and rummaged through his desk drawer. He pulled out a small bottle of lube and opened it in one hand, squirting it down Spencer’s crack, and rubbing over his hole. 

“Mmh—” Spencer was moaning underneath him already. Greedy little slut. 

“You want that, hmm, Spence? You want my finger up your ass?”

“Y-Yes, Sir.”

“Let’s see how bad you want it,” he chuckled. 

He pressed softly over Spencer’s hole, and around it in little circles, just enough to apply some pressure, but not enough for his finger to pop in. It was wet, hot, and so smooth. He could barely restrain himself from plunging in and taking him, but he wanted Spencer begging and writhing for it. 

“Ahhh- oh god—” Spencer moaned. His legs were trembling underneath him. “Please— more!”

Aaron went further away, massaging with his fingers, and sweeping past Spencer’s hole, each time making him gasp from the brief contact. 

“Oh, you want more?” He smirked. “You little slut. You want your ass full? Are you aching for me?”

Spencer wiggled his ass back, trying to position himself to the point where he could fuck himself on his Professor’s fingers. 

“Mmh-mmh, Spencer. We don’t do that. We ask nicely. We _beg_.” 

Spencer whined low in his throat. “Mmh— fuckk— please! Please, okay? Fuck, please!”

Aaron continued to rub circles over Spencer’s asshole. He pressed deeper and deeper, but never quite enough. 

“Oh god, Professor Hotchner, please! Finger me— Fuck—! I need it so bad, please!”

“Mm, so keen. What a perfect little slut,” he smirked. 

Spencer groaned in reply. Aaron could tell he was just about ready to burst with anticipation. Poor boy was so filled to the brim with embarrassment and lust he hardly knew what to do with himself. 

Aaron spread his cheeks apart with one hand and made his hole pucker. He whined so desperately that Aaron laughed. “So good, Spence.” 

“P-Please, sir, please—”

He thrust in with two wet fingers and immediately began scissoring. Spencer nearly gave out beneath him, but caught his footing and gasped, “Fuck!” 

He bent his fingers, searching around for that one spot to drive him wild, and when Spencer bucked up beneath him, he knew he found it. Slow and steady, he rubbed his middle finger up against that spot again, this time with intent. Spencer was moving his hips in terse circular motions, and Aaron smiled at how easy it was to make him fall apart. 

“You’re doing so good, Spence, such a good boy.” 

“P-Proffe—”

Aaron slipped his own cock out from his trousers, his precum already beading out and smearing against him, and replaced his fingers with his tip, pressing in lightly. He didn’t want to give Spencer any more than two fingers of prep. He wanted him to _feel_ it. He wanted it to burn. 

Aaron was already large in that respect. Spencer would have no trouble feeling every inch of his cock. He pushed in slowly, and with the lube, Spencer gave very little resistance, save for his tightness. He threw his head back and groaned as Aaron sunk in, inch by inch, until he was flush against Spencer’s ass. It was such a pretty sight.

Aaron rocked his hips slowly, barely pulling out, until Spencer’s groaning had ceased and he was full on moaning like a whore. He smirked, grabbed his hip tightly, pulled back, and slammed into him. Spencer screamed out. 

“That’s a good slut, take it like a good boy.” He rammed into Spencer again, harder this time, and let out a held breath. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk tomorrow. Fuck, your ass is so tight.”

Spencer shook with pleasure, or pain, possibly, Aaron wasn’t sure, but he kept going at a brutal pace, slamming into him, fucking him hard and deep. He gripped his hair and held his head back so that his neck was bent and exposed. He looked so incredibly vulnerable; Aaron could have him any way he wanted him.

“That’s right, slut, you need my cock, don’t you?” he growled. 

Spencer’s voice came out hoarse and choked. Due to the way his head was tilted back, it constricted his breathing to a small degree. “Ye-es Sir— I n-need it.” 

He looked so beautiful. So insanely beautiful. Aaron had to restrain himself from just grabbing him by the shoulders and just absolutely destroying him. He wanted to jackhammer into him so hard that he would split in half, so hard he would need to see a doctor in the morning. 

Instead, he bit down on his lip and slowed his pace. He wasn’t a monster. Nor was he sure if Spencer would ask him to slow down, let alone stop. Besides, he already made it clear in the past that he wasn’t going to stop when asked. He hadn’t even introduced the idea of a safe word yet. Spencer was just taking him, no questions asked. Even though he was moaning like an animal beneath him, the moans were so close to sounding uncomfortable that he couldn’t be sure. 

“You like that, Spence, hm?” he cooed, as he slid slowly out of him, and pushed back in with as much ease, “Your ass feels full, sweetheart?” 

“Y-Yes, Sir,” he whimpered, “Feels s-so good, please—” 

“Please, what, slut?”

“Pl-lease I need to c-cum, Sir—”

Aaron released his grip in his hair and he let his head fall down to the table with a _thump._

“Do you think you’ve been a good boy? Do you deserve to cum?” 

“Yes, Sir— please, yes, god, yes—”

“Yes? That’s pretty presumptuous of you, little slut.” Aaron grinned. “Luckily you have been a very good boy. Such a tight little boy. God, so tight.” 

“Please!”

Aaron sunk into him, over and over, slow and steady, trying to angle his swollen cock over Spencer’s prostate to see just how much he could take. He was shaking under him, his thighs looked like they were about ready to bow in, and he had yet to pick his head up from the table. His shoulders were heaving up and down with his ragged breathing, and small moans kept slipping from his lips. 

“You can cum, Spencer. Cum for me, little slut,” Aaron groaned. 

He came right on command as if Aaron had pulled his trigger, and he shot his load all over the surface of the desk. Aaron slammed right into his prostate over and over as he shook with pleasure. 

“Oh fuck, Sir— oh god— feels so—fuck-shit—” Spencer let out a string of mumbled curses before he trailed off into nonsense.

“That’s right, there you go, good boy, Spencer, so good.”

Aaron scooped Spencer’s mostly limp form up from the table and held him flush against himself as he angled Spencer just right that he could still thrust up. Spencer’s arms were trapped against his sides, and his mouth was lulled open in pleasure. He was still pumping into him, and he knew how overstimulated that he must be. 

With one final grunt, Aaron shot his load into Spencer’s ass and nuzzled his face against the back of his head. He stilled there inside of him while his labored breathing returned to normal, and his racing heart quieted. Spencer whimpered in his arms and Professor Hotchner pulled out from inside him, and then gathered him even closer against him in a tight backwards hug. 

It was as much for Spencer as it was for him. Aaron breathed in the sweet smell of shampoo and his head spun in a dizzy sort of way. He alway enjoyed the aftercare portion of play. When the play _was_ play. For Spencer it was still… way too real, no matter how tremendously accepting he’d been of it. No matter how he’d come back wanting more. 

He needed a lot of praise. A lot of aftercare to keep him from breaking, especially now. 

“Sir?” Spencer asked. 

“Mm, yes?” Aaron whispered close behind his ear. He was breathing right into his hair. 

“Thank you…”

Aaron kissed his cheek. “You’re welcome. You were a good boy, Sweetheart.” Then his voice dropped instantly. This wasn’t some sub act. Spencer hardly knew what a sub was. “Such a good, beautiful boy you are.” 

“I— y’know, uh.” He blushed and stalled. “I don’t know, I just really… needed that.” 

“I know what you need. And I’ll give it to you,” Aaron whispered. 

Spencer’s head shot around, twisting oddly, stopped by Aaron’s tight grip on his torso, so that he was only half turned. His eyes were wide like saucers with a subtle look of wonder. “ _oh_ ,” he just barely breathed out.

Aaron smiled, spun him around, and ran his hand through his hair. “Mmh, my obedient little sub. You love it. You need this. So good, Sweetheart.”

Spencer’s lips twitched in a small, embarrassed smile, but he kept his eyes trained down on the floor. He hummed a little in response. 

With his index finger, Aaron pushed up Spencer’s chin so he had no choice but to look him in the eye. He slipped his other hand around Spencer’s waist and pulled him even closer. Spencer was looking at him quietly, his face tinted a rosy shade of pink, and his pupils blown out. 

“Spencer, sweetheart,” Aaron mumbled, his voice coming out deep and gravely, “I’m going to kiss you now.”

If it were possible, his eyes grew wider, and he could feel Spencer’s heartbeat jackhammering below his skin. It gave him a sense of satisfaction that he couldn’t ignore. He brought his head down and pressed his lips against his. Spencer gave an adorable little whine. It was closed lipped and sweet, and it was over before he knew it. 

Aaron pulled back with his breathing still hanging in the air in front of him, and Spencer looked like all the air had been sucked out of his entire world. 

“So pretty, Spencer.” Aaron smiled. He rubbed his thumb against Spencer’s cheek and he learned into it, eyelids fluttering closed. “Are you okay?”

“Mmhm,” he hummed. A smile was playing on his lips now. 

He looked so damn good with a smile. He hardly had the opportunity to see it. He decided he would change that. 

“Tell me what you’re going to do tonight.” 

“Huh…? Uh, go to sleep,” His voice was coming out hazy.

“No, that’s not it. Think about what I told you earlier, Spence.” 

“Uhh, _oh._ Sorry. I’m going to go home and make a list, uh, of all the reasons why I… I um, want _this_.” He blushed bright red. “And then rewrite it the next day to bring back to you.” 

“Very good.” Aaron smirked, then kissed him. “Now be on your way, Spence. You have a lot to think about. I’ll see you Thursday.” 

“Yes, Sir.” He blushed. Then, he smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> goobzoop.tumblr.com


	9. Internet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reid does his 'homework'

_“It takes something more than intelligence to act intelligently.”_

― Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Crime and Punishment

* * *

Spencer fidgeted with nervous energy when he got back to his dorm. 

Ethan noticed it immediately, Spencer could tell. Seemingly pleased enough that Spencer was smiling again, he left it alone, to which he was eternally grateful; he didn’t feel like making up more lies. 

Instead, he plopped down on their little couch and let out a long, satisfied sigh. 

“Off at the library again?” Ethan chuckled. He grabbed a box of Fruit Loops from the cabinet and poured it into a bowl that did’t seem altogether clean. “You always have that weird serene look after you spend all day studying, you nerd.” 

Spencer grinned. “Yeah, you know me. Big nerd.” 

“So… I don’t want to, like, kill your vibe or anything, dude, but I invited some people over.” 

Spencer let his head fall back on the fake leather and groaned. “C’mon, Ethan, really?” 

“Yeah, man! Okay, so I get you don’t like crowds, but it’s gonna be fun! And I didn’t invite that many people, or even anyone that you don’t already know, so no strangers, okay?” 

Spencer squinted. “You promise?”

“Yeah, dude, I swear,” Ethan said, coming into the living room with his dry cereal. “And, uh, they’re gonna be here like any second. Y’know, like Jen and Will, and Emily and Penny.” 

Spencer closed his eyes and groaned again, every bit of calmness that he accumulated over the past hour slipping from his body.

“Oh get a grip, Spence!” Ethan laughed. “Girls! Okay? Why are you so bummed when we’re gonna have a party full of girls?!” 

“I don’t _care_ about girls.” 

“Yeah, all you care about is books,” Ethan grumbled. “And, um, Elle is coming.”

Spencer looked over and caught Ethan with a red face and a sheepish grin. “Oh, yeah? Elle, ‘I-swear-I’m-not-stalking-her’, Elle?” 

“I’m _not_!” he huffed. “I ran into her ONCE at Starbucks. It’s called a coincidence!” 

“It’s not a coincidence when it’s winter break and it’s in her home town. A town that you’re not from, mind you.”

“I have friends down there! You guys are nuts! I hate you all. You’re all making a way bigger deal out of this than it really is. Besides, she didn’t think it was creepy.”

“Yeah, ‘cos you’re such a good stalker. That’s how you know you’re good, when they don’t even realize you followed them home to Starbucks,” Spencer grinned.

“Oh, fuck you!” he groaned. “You’re all a bunch of assholes.”

Still on the couch, burying his face in a pillow, he whined like a child. “Nah, you’re the asshole. I have things to do tonight. I can’t do them with a bunch of people over.” 

“What do you have to do? You can finish your work in like, 20 minutes tops.” Ethan shoved a handful of fruit loops mouth. “Plus, I know for a fact that you don’t have class until 5pm tomorrow, so you’re golden.”

“Only a stalker would know my class schedule.” Spencer ducked under the pillow and laughed. 

He would have to carve out some time tonight to do what he was told, but he couldn’t risk doing it with a dorm full of people who could walk in on him at any moment. The lock on his door was shoddy at best, and extremely malfunctioning at worst. Plus his room was shared with Ethan so he would have every right to walk in unannounced. The last thing he needed was a reputation as a pervert who spent parties looking up weird fetish websites.

“Yeah, well— oh, hey!” Ethan jumped up from the armchair. “Someone’s here.”

A group full of excited girls came through the door, giving Ethan hugs and shrugging off their coats. 

“Spencer!” Penelope sing-songed, and bounced over to him. “Spencer, I missed you!”

“Hey, Penny,” he squeaked. Penny made him feel all sorts of awkward; she was just so over the top! She was his magnetic opposite, and he knew it drove her insane that he would never engage with her. 

“Where have you been hiding, boy genius?” She plopped down next to him. 

He scooted away from her. In a totally stealth manner. “Uh, you know, around.”  


She frowned. “Oh, come on, cupcake! I know you’ve been holding back on me!” She grabbed his arm and pulled him close against her. “I miss my Boy Wonder! I call dibs on you tonight, okay?” 

Not so subtly, he winced. He didn’t like being touched; ew. He tried to shrug her off but it only made her cling harder and her blonde and purple curls were starting to bush against his shoulder and _ugh_. “Yeah, okay, fine. But can you just, like, let me go?” 

“No fun, sugar!” she pouted, but released her grip on him. “Don’t worry, no more touchy-touchy, I know how you get.”

“Hey, don’t be harassing Spencer over there, Pen!” Emily chided as she came into the room. 

Thank God for Emily. 

“I wasn’t, I swear! Tell her, Spence! Tell her!” 

“Uhhh…” His mind always went haywire in social situations. What was the formula for this situation? Lie to Emily to preserve his friendship with Penny, or tell Emily that Penny was bothering him and risk Penny getting mad at him, but also making Emily respect him for telling the truth? There were too many variables and not enough right answers. He hated things without right answers. 

Dammit, Ethan. 

“See? He’s fine!” Penny smiled. 

Emily rolled her eyes and shot him a look of apology. Best not to think about it. 

Jen and Will showed up together after a half hour and soon the room was buzzing with conversation, snacks and the sound of buttons being mashed on controllers. He didn’t know what they were playing, nor did he care. All he had to do was ride this out, and sooner or later everyone would have to leave. 

Ethan wasn’t in a great mood either, because as it turned out Elle never showed up. He was glancing between the clock and the front door every few minutes, and with each passing hour his frown got deeper and deeper. 

“Spence, c’mon, come play!” Penny looked back at him, trying to entice him with video games. 

Spencer shrugged. “Ehh.” 

“C’monnn!” 

“Nah, I really don’t want to.” 

She batted her eyelashes. “Don’t be a party pooper, boy wonder! Have fun with me, pretty please?” 

“I’m not— I, _ugh_ , I have to go do something,” he mumbled. 

“Nooo!” Penny whined as he got up from the couch and headed into his room. 

It was like a wave of relief crashing over him as he closed the door and slumped down to the floor. Being around all those people was so _exhausting_. All of the conversations, the nuances, and never knowing what to say, fuck. 

He just wanted the day to be over. Fuck this night, and Ethan, and his stupid attempts to woo girls who weren’t even interested in him in the first place. 

Spencer crawled into bed, brought the covers over his head, and shut his eyes. There wasn’t a way to make his brain shut off, there never was, but he was tired enough, and even though Ethan was banging on their door for him to come out and hang with everyone, he slid into sleep. Everything else could wait. The party, the people, the… _thing_ that he had to do. It could all wait until tomorrow. He was a quick study; it would take him all of ten minutes to do what Professor Hotchner instructed so if he wanted to go to sleep now, he didn’t see the problem. He’d never know the difference.

. . .

Surprisingly, Spencer slept until noon, and didn’t quite make it out of bed until half past one. Overtiredness was making his head groggy and he wanted to curl up in bed even longer, but the thought of coffee got him up on his feet and walking towards the sad, sorry excuse for a kitchen. 

Well, kitchen was a loose term. It was a sink, a microwave, and the coffee pot that Spencer brought from home. It was a dorm, after all, and besides, the coffee part was the only essential part anyway.

Once he had a cup full in his stomach and another in his mug, he was ready to start his day. Ready to start starting his day, at least. Which meant gathering all of his study materials and heading to the library. That’s where all the fun really began. 

The library was a sanctuary of sorts. It was one of the biggest and oldest buildings on campus and it had this beautiful energy about it. Not that Spencer believed in any of that hippie bull, no. It just had culture and history, and that sort of thing made him feel like he was part of something. Lots of great minds had walked in and out of there filling their minds with important things, and he was determined to be one of them. 

He had a certain spot that he claimed as his own and made a beeline for it when he got there. It was tucked in the back, by the literary gothic section, and it had plenty of desk space for all his books and notes, not to mention an amazing view of the courtyard. 

So by the time that Spencer had begun to dig into his textbook for his Criminal Procedures and Investigations class, it was already nearing four and fast approaching five. 

Sooner than he realized, he was walking towards class and muttering under his breath about the _task_ that he was still putting off. He kept pushing it and pushing it. 

He could have made time, but he didn’t. 

After class. Definitely after class would he see to making Professor Hotchner his list.

. . . 

And he did. When he got back to the dorm, he ran to his room and shut the door. Ethan could wait if he wanted to sleep. Spencer had shit to do. He put off Professor Hotchner’s assignment so long that he was starting to feel guilty about it. After all, the instructions were _very_ clear. Even if he could get all that done in the blink of an eye, he did agree to do it how Professor Hotchner wanted.

That was a moot point, though, because he couldn’t turn back time and he had to hand in the list tomorrow. 

So, to the internet! To look up... BDSM, as he called it. Immediately he was bombarded with racy pictures of women in skin tight leather skirts, see through bras, and thigh high boots with alarmingly high heels. 

No, okay, so re-calibration... _gay_ BDSM. Which felt odd to type, but he did have a dick up his ass earlier in the week so maybe he should get used to the term.

He scanned over the links, taking in just about every single one on the first page of results within the first second. 

Wow. 

It was a lot. And still very confusing. Even if he could read it all, it didn’t mean that he knew what any of the terms meant. 

_Watersport videos xxx_ , _submissive singles dating_ , _Leather Daddies accessories_. 

And it went on, and on, and _on._

If only there were a google scholar search engine to wade through the junk. Spencer laughed at the thought, then tried to narrow his search. 

He typed in _gay BDSM explained for beginners_ , and hoped that would lead to something good. 

It provided him with a list of links that went on to explain the dynamics of BDSM relationships, all the terms used, what the roles were, how scenes were played out, and a plethora of other topics. 

It didn’t take that long to click through about ten sites and gain a basic understanding. 

What all the sites said about _subs_ and their Doms was exactly what Spencer wanted from his Professor. It was exactly what he craved from the moment that he... well, from their first encounter. The end of it, anyway, because reading the sites left him with a sour taste in his mouth about the first time in the bathroom stall but he pushed that to the back of his mind. There were more than enough images and words on the screen to fill it with other things. 

More intriguing things. Things that made his body temperature rise and his heart beat fast in his chest. 

Pictures of thin guys that looked vaguely similar to him all tied up, cuffed, or pinned down. Shit. With their asses high in the air, or kneeling on the floor, sitting in the lap of a bigger man; my god. 

Spencer’s jeans were feeling tighter and he knew he wasn’t going to last like that. He let his hand trail down to his pants and rub against the hard bulge on his thigh. A low moan escaped and he bit his lip while he continued to scroll with his left hand. 

Everything about the word submissive was making him so unbelievably aroused. He never realized just how badly he craved it. Every image on the screen started to look like a well-dressed man in a dark suit. Dark eyes, dark hair, and sharp features; Fuck. He needed his Professor to dominate him. He needed to be the boys on the screen. He needed to be pushed down and stretched open. 

He groaned and kept palming himself. It was growing harder against his pants, and he unzipped to set it free. He was already leaking and throbbing incessantly. Without missing a beat he moved his fist to his tip, smeared his precum down his length, and started pumping. 

_Boys in big red gags, boys on their hands and knees being led around in collars, boys with their thighs wrapped around their Dom and their asses full of cock._

He worked himself harder, harder, and his breath was caught in his throat. He was starting to sweat lightly on his forehead, pink and flushed. He kept his eyes on the screen; Kept reading, looking. 

_Boys bent over their Daddy’s knees getting spanked just like he did, boys with cocks shoved so far down their throats that their eyes were leaking and their noses running just he had, boys with their asses full of big butt plugs just like he wanted…_

Fuck–! Spencer jutted forward, body convulsing mad like a plane in a nose dive heading straight for a cash landing, and he gasped as he tipped over that oh-so-pleasurable edge cumming into his hand.

His dick kept pulsing, pulsing, and oozing hot sticky cum. He came so hard; he almost wondered if it would ever stop at all. It was his best orgasm in ages, maybe since he discovered what orgasms were. 

When he came down from his high, he slumped forward, a sweaty out of breath mess, and just barely tucked his dick back in his pants before he passed out on his keyboard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My next update will be on the 8th thank you and I love you guys. Ty for reading!


	10. I Don't Care What You Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the previous chapter Spencer looked up BDSM online and fell asleep at his computer.

_“In a mad world, only the mad are sane.”_

― Akira Kurosawa

* * *

“Dude?” Spencer groaned, flailing his arms at the big weird butterfly that was attacking him. “Hello? Dude, Spencer!” 

“NAaauuhhh!” 

“Uh, Spence, you’re gonna miss class, man.” Ethan laughed, and nudged him again on the shoulder. “Thought you might want to know.”

“Mmmh?” Spencer picked up his head, and a pain shot through his neck to his shoulder. “Aargh, fuck. Ow. Class? What— what about my alarm clock?”

“I don’t know anything about your alarm clock, dude. That’s your responsibility. You’re lucky I even woke your sleepy ass up.” 

“Fuck me,” Spencer groaned. He rubbed his cheek and felt the impressions of the keyboard pressed into his skin. 

“Eh, rain check,” Ethan snorted. “I’m more into the ladies.”

Spencer rolled his eyes. “Okay, now fuck you. I gotta go. Like now.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you!” 

Spencer yanked on a different shirt, grabbed his backpack from the hallway and set off out the door. 

Thankfully, he made it on time. Unfortunately, he hadn’t even been able to grab any coffee. He felt like a certifiable zombie. Like if there was a kid in class with coffee instead of blood, he’d definitely be mauling them to the ground and eating their brains. Wait— no, their blood. Okay, yeah. He really needed that coffee. 

Even more than the coffee… well, okay, maybe not _more_ , nothing comes between him and his coffee, he needed to write that list like yesterday. Or more technically, two days ago. Fuck.

He had all of class before he needed to turn it in, thankfully. So, getting out his notebook, he turned to a fresh page. Before he started though, he glanced down at Professor Hotchner at the front of the class, and couldn’t look away. How had he not noticed just how attractive he was before? Looking at that jawline, those dark eyes, and the thick eyelashes lining them- he could have been a model when he was younger. He had a nice body, too, and very well-tailored suits that made it all the more impressive. He was an agent not too long ago, after all, and the physical work, the weight training, the running- it showed. 

Furthermore, what was under that shirt? Some chiseled abs, well-defined ridges, or, oh god, maybe a happy trail leading down from his navel? Oh. Spencer cursed himself for never taking the time to undress Professor Hotchner when they were together. It seemed like he was always in full suit, save for his well-endowed cock. On the other hand, he probably wouldn’t have been allowed to do that anyway. 

He would try, though, in the future. 

He was practically drooling at that point, so he turned his attention back to his empty paper, this time with a lot more inspiration. First, he replayed the instructions he was given. 

_You’re going to go back to your dorm tonight, and you’re going to write down a list of the reasons why you want this, and why you don’t. Find three things that excite you and explain why._

Okay, so ops about the first part, but he could still do the ‘why’s’ and ‘three things’ part. 

Second, he pulled up everything he read in the search engine of his brain and filtered through the information systematically. The questions primarily required an emotional response, but he wanted his answers to be factual as well. 

He started scribbling down on the paper and ignoring class. Writing it was difficult, but not as difficult as he expected it to be. It felt more like a conversation with himself than a declaration to his Professor about his sexuality. If he just ignored the part about handing it in, it was actually pretty therapeutic. He never thought much about sex before. 

_Why I want to be your submissive:_  
_* Turns me on_  
_* Stress relief_  
_* Loss of control_  
_* Praise_

Okay, fine, so that didn’t sound very professional or scholarly, but he was looking for something honest, right? Something emotional?

 _Why I don’t want to be a submissive:_  
_* Embarrassing_  
_* Punishments_  
_* Lots of rules_  
_* Loss of control_  
_* Scared_

That one was a little bit more embarrassing to write out. He didn’t want him to know that he was _scared_ , but he had to be honest. He already disobeyed so much, at the very least he could put down honest answers.

_Three things that I find exciting and why:_  
_1\. Kneeling, the idea of this… seeing it online, really. Kneeling has extremely religious connotations, and signifies respect, humility, and subservience to a higher power. It really turned me on to see a boy on his knees for his Dom…_  
_2\. Daddy, this one… well, I saw it a lot and I’m not sure why exactly but it really got me excited and I kind of think it’s weird but it was also really hot reading that boys call their Doms daddy. I don’t know. It has been around for a long time though, the term, dating back to 1681 wherein Farhi noted in the Random House Historical Dictionary of American Slang that prostitutes would refer to their pimps as Daddies, not that I’m trying to infer that I want you to be a pimp, just that and what i’m trying to say is that it seemed… nice._  
_3\. Butt plugs, Probably an inexperienced, basic answer but... I really enjoyed when you were inside me and I think it would feel really good to use one._

There, that wasn’t so hard. He just has to ignore the fact that Professor Hotchner would read that in less than thirty minutes, and he’s golden. Oh god, was it really only thirty minutes until class was over?

Spencer groaned, and had to force his head to not fall onto the desk in sheer frustration. He wasn’t ready. He was so incredibly excited for everything that he read about, but didn’t want to go through the terrible process of opening up and, and, _ugh_ admitting it all out loud. 

He liked to talk. No, he _loved_ to talk. But that was talking about theories, science and facts. Not emotions. Not his _sexual preferences._ Not with his Professor.

. . . 

“Well?”

Spencer snapped out of his daydreaming to the cold voice of his Professor addressing him from down near the front of class. When he looked around, everyone had already left; they were alone again. 

“Sorry, Sir, what?” 

“I said go lock the doors. You know the drill.”

“Yeah, okay,” he mumbled under his breath. Locking all the doors in the lecture hall took a few minutes to finish because there were main doors, a pair of doors on the east wall, and a pair of emergency exit doors by the front. 

When he was finished, Professor Hotchner beckoned him up front with a little ‘come hither’ wiggle of his finger. Standing in front of him with his notebook clutched under his right arm like it was a bomb with a pressure plate that he couldn’t let go, he held his breath and waited. Waiting was a new game for him that he was forced to play. There was always the threat of spanking if he didn’t _wait_. 

Therefore, it was Professor Hotchner who spoke up first. He addressed the notebook Spencer was holding. Inevitably asking about that _list_. Even though he hesitated, and his hand was shaking when he handed it over, he gave him the paper. 

He bit his lip. The anticipation was killing him. 

Professor Hotchner didn’t say anything at first. It wasn’t that long and he was able to skim through it quickly. It wasn’t like it was ‘Crime and Punishment’ or anything.

He looked up with a frown. “What is this, Reid?” 

“That’s my assignment, Sir.” 

“I know what it is. I’m going to ask you again, what _is_ this?”

“Uh, it’s… I mean, that’s my… that’s what I looked up. Online, y’know? Sir.”

“When did you write this?” His face was dark; his features taut. He looked… harsh. 

“Um…” 

“You didn’t follow my instructions, did you?”

“I, uh…” 

“Well? I asked you a question.”

Spencer gulped, scratched his neck, and closed his eyes. “Yes, Sir. I’m sorry, I don’t know… I wrote it… um.”

He could physically feel Professor Hotchner’s eyes boring into him. “You wrote it in class. Or rather, _I watched you_ write it in class.”

“Uh. Yeah.” Spencer cleared his throat. “Sir.”

Professor Hotchner folded up the paper in three neat little creases and slipped it into his pocket. He wasn’t looking at Spencer anymore. Spencer, on the other hand, was burning holes in the back of Professor Hotchner’s head. He still didn’t get any feedback on the work he did. Even if it wasn’t exactly done… _right_

“Hey— my work is miles better than anyone else’s even if I rushed it!”

“No, it’s not. This is a joke,” Professor Hotchner spat. “You can get your things and go. I’m done playing this game. You're clearly not ready.”

“Go? I can’t leave! I don’t want to!” Spencer said, heart pounding. He should have done it right. What was he thinking?

Professor Hotchner turned away. “Frankly, Reid, I don’t care what you want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that, my friends, concludes chapter 10! Kind of a dumpsterfire. I plan to update on the 13th.


	11. Coin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I'd update on the 13th but nah. surprise im here with ya update. Bad mood for me means good mood for you 
> 
> Last chapter Hotch scolded Spencer for not doing what he told him to and then he said 'fork off, kid' and Spencer was like, 'wait no pls im sorry, fucc me'
> 
> in this chapter...? we'll see. honestly I dont know why I write the things I do

_"The wise are not wise because they make no mistakes._

_They are wise because they correct their mistakes_

_as soon as they recognize them.”_

― Orson Scott Card, Xenocide

* * *

Spencer dropped his shoulders as all the fight rushed out of him. Suddenly the sting that came along with Professor Hotchner insinuating he earned an F didn’t seem so important anymore. Sure, he never failed anything before in his life, but that was nothing compared to the fact that he was getting dismissed after getting promised so much. 

“Please, don’t make me go,” he whispered. A sinkinging feeling in his gut threatened him. “I’ll do better next time, Sir, I promise.” 

Professor Hotchner still didn’t find him worthy to look at. “There’s not going to be a next time.”

“But—”

He watched as Professor Hotchner started clearing his desk and that sent his heart into overdrive. _Thump, thump, thump._ Was he really leaving? Did the paper really mean that much to him? 

What was Spencer going to do? 

He couldn’t go back to the time before the bar. He couldn’t not know what it felt like to be fucked so well. He couldn’t forget that eerie sense of satisfaction that popped up every time he uttered ‘Yes, Sir.’

And most importantly, he couldn’t forget a single fucking second of anything that happed because it was permenetly seared into his brain like a shitty half-priced tattoo. 

“I’m not going!” he said. “I’m _not_.” 

“Suit yourself. I’ll see you tomorrow in class.” 

Spencer moved infront of the desk, fists clenched at his sides. “NO!”

Professor Hotchner lifted a brow, but not much else changed. Spencer was seething. How could he be so impassive? Nothing could ever touch him. Spencer wanted to know that he had some sort of effect on him. Even just a fraction of the effect that Professor Hotchner had on _him_. There he was, bearing his soul, offering himself up on a silver platter and it meant nothing. The hair on the back of his neck pricked up. It felt like a pivotal moment in his life: he could take the left fork in the road, go back to his dorm and have quiet night reading, or he could take the right fork and push hard, demand, take. Stand up for himself and get what he was promised. Go back to his dorm with something sore, something electric, something calm. He swayed on his feet, trying to take a step. Left, or right?

“You— you’re a monster,” he said. “How can you make me learn all about… about submission and you don’t even let me try?” 

“You did just try. Unfortunately, you’re not up to the task, and quite frankly you’ve been nothing short of a handful from the very beginning; I’m not surprised.”

“But I’m gonna try harder now! I didn’t not write the list on purpose. I— there were people over. I couldn’t help it. I was busy! I didn’t think it mattered.”

“That right there is exactly what you’re not getting. It doesn’t matter if it _doesn’t matter_. If I tell you to do something, you do it. Not you ‘try’, or you ‘sort of’ do it, or do ‘some of it’. My word is the end. When I tell you to do something, it doesn’t matter if I have a good reason, and it doesn’t matter if you know what it is, you listen.”

Spencer groaned. He took a step right. “But I’m sorry, Sir!” 

“I know,” he said curtly.

“So, so, give me another chance! Please? Hey— wait!”

Just like everyone else, Professor Hotchner was walking out the door. His stomach flipped to the point where he started to feel queasy. This wasn’t what he wanted at all! The paper couldn’t really mean all that much in the long run; he should give him a break! They hadn’t even started yet. Or they had, but this was the very first thing!

“Professor—!” Spencer grabbed at his arm. He wasn’t going to let him get away; screw that! He wasn't just stepping right, he was _sprinting._ He dropped down to his knees like all the boys he’d seen do so effortlessly online, only he banged them against the ground and winced, which probably didn’t look all that attractive. 

“Please, forgive me? Sir, I need this, please. You can punish me, right? Punish me, anything—”

“Reid—”

“No! Not Ried; Spencer!” he cried. “Anything, really, I mean it. I’ll do anything, please?”

He dipped his head down, and trained his eyes on the shiny black Oxfords in front of him. When that didn’t garner a response, he slid his hands behind his back and laced them together.

More than a minute passed. Five, maybe. It wasn’t easy staying still in that position but he held steady with the conviction that maybe Professor Hotchner was changing his mind. Maybe he was realizing that Spencer _was_ serious. That he could do better.

After what was an agonizing few minutes, he spoke. “Look at me, Spence.”

He obeyed. 

“There will be a lot of things that I ask you to do that you’re not going to like. Things I’m going to ask you to think about, or change. I need to know that you’re going to be a good boy and listen even when it’s not easy. Are you going to do that for me?”

If Spencer wanted to continue with this arrangement, he would agree. The entire thing hinged on Professor Hotchner laying down the rules and him following them to the T, he saw that now. If he wanted this, he was going to have to do anything Professor Hotchner asked. “Yes, Sir. I will. I promise, I will.”

“Good.” He eyed him warily. 

“Are you… are you going to punish me, Sir?”

“I’m not going to spank you today,” he said, his eyes holding Spencer’s. “You’re going to stay like this, on your knees, until I come back. Understand?”

“Yes… yes, Sir. When will you be back?”

“Not much longer than an hour. Next time, you don’t ask that. I’m going to lock the door after me; don’t worry about anyone coming in.” 

He nodded, flushed pink. “Yes, Sir.” 

“Don’t you move from your knees, Spencer. Be a good boy for me, okay?”

“Yes, Sir. I’ll be a good boy. Thank you.”

Just when he thought he was going to leave, he bent down right next to him, close enough that he could smell the sting of his cologne, and he chanced a smile. Being this close, Spencer was beginning to realize, was quickly becoming one of his favorite things. There was something so reassuring about being near Professor Hotchner. The way he smelled was heavenly; there was always this faint twitch of leather and whiskey. It was intoxicating. It made him dizzy the way spinning in a chair so fast enough to make your heart skip does. Not only that, but just having him close was _calming._ Which was laughable, because of all the terror that he’d incited in him not only a week ago, and that smug attitude that he’d had every class so far that made his blood boil, but it didn’t matter now; Professor Hotchner made him feel like he was centered in the moment now. 

He let his eyes flutter shut and he took in a big, deep breath. 

“Lift up your knee, Spence.” That voice, so close.

“Mh, yes, Sir.” 

He slipped something underneath. It was round, hard, and his kneecap dug into it.

“What’s—” 

“Shh, be quiet,” he said. “I’ll be back in a while. You better stay still, Spencer.”

“I will, Sir.”

. . . 

Five minutes passed, then ten, and Spencer was beginning to feel the burn in his thighs. His knees were digging into the carpet in a dull fashion, with the right pressing hard against the coin that his Professor left behind. He tried to release some pressure by shifting his weight onto the other knee, but after a few minutes that one started to ache to the point where he couldn’t stand it anymore, and had to go back to the center. He threw his head back and let out a frustrated groan.

There was a clock right overtop the double doors that mocked him with every tick. If Professor Hotchner was being truthful, he’d be back in just about… oh, god, an _hour_. He couldn’t last an hour like this! How was he so weak that after just fifteen minutes he was ready to keel over and admit defeat? 

Physical tests had never been his strong suit, though, so it wasn’t all that surprising, and he was far from a masochist. Last time he stubbed his toe he cried for five minutes. Pain wasn’t very comfortable; most people could attest to that, 98.7% of people, actually. The quarter was no exception. At the very least, it focused all his attention to the one knee and kept him from thinking about the burning in his thighs, and the ache in his back, but that was hardly a consolation. 

He let himself take another glance at the clock. It’d only been 7 minutes since he last looked. That meant 53 minutes left. 53 horrible minutes. Why was the clock ticking so slow?

If Professor Hotchner wanted him to think about what he did wrong, this was a horrible punishment. He couldn’t think about _anything_. Not a single thought would stick in his head long enough to take hold; the sharp pang ringing in his knee made sure of that. He could hardly even remember why he was kneeling like this in the first place. 

Wait, no, it was the list. _arrrgh, ow._ That stupid list that he should have just done like Professor _owww._ Hotchner had told him to. Why did he have to be so stupid? It wasn’t like he usually failed things. 

_Oww._ Everything except social situations and _ow._ physical tests he was excellent at. While this wasn’t exactly social, he had a feeling it was going to _owww._ get very physical. 

God, that coin fucking hurt. Stupid coin. If that coin wasn’t there, it would be so much easier. It would be a cake walk. _oww._ The burn was ignorable. The burn he could deal with, but not that circular little torture device wedged under him. _owwww._ Even the little ridges around its perimeter were digging in. He could fucking feel them pressing their evil little rivulets into his bone.. 

“Oh, god, please…” No one was listening, but it felt good to let it out. 

Another glance at the clock. 48 more minutes. This was unbearable. _owww._

He couldn’t do it. He was _owwwww._ weak.

He wanted to be strong. He wanted to impress his Professor. He wanted to be able to do this one simple task. It just _hurt_ so much. _owww._ Why was he so unbelievably weak? If the 12th Doctor could stand to replay his death over and over and over again, just to slam his fist into an unbreakable diamond wall, couldn't he just kneel on a quarter for a couple of minutes? It’s just a quarter, just a tiny little harmless quarter...

He hated that quarter. _oww._ He couldn’t do it. He wasn’t strong like the Doctor. He was just a nerdy kid from Nevada.

There was no way. No possible way. Professor Hotchner would understand, wouldn’t he? No... he definitely wouldn’t. _owwww._ Though maybe he didn’t have to know. He didn't even have to stop kneeling; he could just slide that quarter out and it would be a million times better. If that quarter was gone, god, then he could make it. 

He had to. _owwww._ He _had_ to. Right…?

He lifted up his right knee and brushed the coin out from under, letting out a huge sigh of relief, like a damn breaking and all the water gushing free. Sweet mother of god, that coin was the worst thing in the world.  
As long as he put it back before his Professor returned, then no harm no foul, right? He suffered enough already. Professor Hotchner wouldn’t know the difference if he suffered through a half an hour or a full hour, anyway. He learned his lesson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TO CRIMINALMINDS123487654391028 IM SORRY FOR THE CLIFFHANGER DONT HATE ME I WROTE THIS SO LONG AGO
> 
> I'll prob update on 15th or 16th or 17th idk


	12. HOTCH

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chap Hotch made Spence kneel on a quarter and Spencer, being the little baby he is, couldn't handle it

_"And now that you don't have to be perfect,_

_you can be good.”_

― John Steinbeck, East of Eden

* * *

The rest of the wait wasn’t a picnic, but it wasn’t like he was in intense pain anymore. Spencer held the coin firm in his hand, tucked behind his back, and waited until Professor Hotchner was due to return. With only a few minutes to spare, he replaced it back, regrettably, under his knee. It was still sore and the hurt returned full force.

It was just in time, too, because Professor Hotchner was coming through the door and eyeing him steadily. 

“Have you been a good boy?” he asked him. 

Spencer nodded his head fast. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Get up, sweetheart.” 

Spencer blushed, and stood. Butterflies raged in his stomach. There was that _name_ again. His legs were wobbly, sore, and they felt like jelly. He thought he might fall over, but he didn’t; couldn’t, the way he was being held. Professor Hotchner’s arms held tightly around him like a big warm blanket that he had half a mind to snuggle up and fall asleep on. He was cradling his head against him, raking his fingers through his hair, and praising him so nicely. 

“Spencer?” he said, in a low tone. 

“Yes, Sir?” he hummed. 

The fingers slid smooth like a breeze. “Did you stay put like I told you to?

“Yes, Sir.” 

“You didn’t move, did you?”

“No, Sir.” He nodded into his chest.

“Then why is the quarter tails side up?”

Spencer’s stomach dropped. Panic set in, crept up, took his whole body hostage and refused to give it back. He looked up to see a set of cold eyes drilling into him and felt as if all the air in the room vanished. 

“I—”

“How long did you last, then?” he asked, surprisingly calm. 

He couldn’t lie, could he? Professor Hotchner seemed to know everything, though. “Uh…” On the other hand, there was the possibility that he just failed yet _another_ test, and this time he’d be tossed away for good. 

Professor Hotchner didn’t stop raking his fingers through his hair. “It’s okay, tell me the truth.” Not very convincing.

He wouldn’t lie, though. He knew it all started with a lie. “Twenty-nine minutes, Sir…”

Professor Hotchner’s face was still unreadable as ever.

He ducked his head and pressed it against his suit. If he tried hard enough, he could feel the steady drum of his heartbeat underneath. “I’m s-sorry, Sir, please don’t leave…” 

“It’s okay, Spence. You lasted longer than I thought you would,” he said, casually. “Your knee must be killing you. Let me see it.”

Spencer hiked up his pant leg and showed him the angry red welt smack dab in the middle of his knee cap. It snarled back at them. 

“Come on. We’ll go to my office and I’ll put some ice on it. Go get your things.”

“I— are you sure? You’re not mad?” he stalled, before tacking on, “Sir.”

Professor Hotchner gave him a _look_ and said, “No more talking, go do what I told you.”

He nodded and when he was finished he trailed behind him to his office.

. . . 

Aaron settled Spencer down with an icepack resting on his knee. He was looking nervous and twitchy; he was scared of another punishment. Which he should be: he directly disobeyed orders. Orders that may have been impossible, but orders nonetheless.

Spencer rushing through the first assignment took Aaron off guard since the kid was all about education and making good grades. Not for a second did his slip up make Aaron want to stop Dominating him, but he could use a bit of fear after that gross display. The results were even better than Aaron expected, too, with Spencer throwing himself at him, falling to the floor in submission. Just, _wow._ It was borderline angelic.

It took every last bit of self restraint he had to leave him there with his punishment instead of scooping him up and taking him right there on the carpet, fucking him into oblivion.

Spencer was stubborn. Even more so than he originally took him for. All together he was a beautiful mix of submission and defiance. Being the brilliant young man that Aaron knew he was, he took it wonderfully. He lasted much longer than Aaron thought that he would. He was such a strong young man. 

Furthermore, it was more than a physical test, though that was the main prerogative; he also wanted to watch Spencer’s reactions, see if he would lie, about what, and how often. Fortunately Spencer admitted to what he did after being found out. They didn’t develop any trust, not yet, so lying was a given. Human nature; he was scared. Afterwards, though, that was a choice, and Spencer chose right. 

He would have to put his mind at ease for the time being. No need for Spencer to think that he’s going to toss him out like last week’s paper.

He sat down next to Spencer on the couch in his office. It was a dark leather loveseat that he’d bought shortly after coming to the university. He used to have fantasies of bending his old teacher’s assistant over the arm of the thing and fucking him raw. He was a little too filled out for his taste, though, too much muscle definition, and impeccable features that left him looking always a little bit too smug. It always felt a little bit off. 

Spencer, though, God, he looked like he could have been carved from marble and placed on that loveseat just for him. With a steady hand, he took Spencer’s legs and moved them over top of his own, so that he was just two scoots away from being in his lap. He took the ice pack out of Spencer’s freezing hand and pressed it to his knee, taking the cold hand and holding it with his other. Spencer blushed; he was so sweet and excitable. 

For a while, he just sat there, the two of them in a halfway comfortable silence. Comfortable for Aaron, and, he assumed, suspenseful for Spencer. Suspenseful enough to finally keep him from running his mouth when he was told not to. 

“Hey,” Aaron whispered. It was soft, yet stern. “Look at me, Sweetheart.”

When Spencer looked over, he squeezed his hand and gave him a tiny smile. “You’re doing okay, Spencer. You’re learning. You like learning, don’t you?”

Spencer nodded, so he went on. 

“You were such a good boy, kneeling for me.” he learned over and pressed a kiss to his temple. “We need to work on your honesty, though. It’s never okay to lie to me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” he whispered with glossy eyes starting earnestly up at him.

Aaron’s chest burned with satisfaction. “Say it, then.”

“I, um. I won’t lie to you, Sir. I’ll be honest from now on.”

Aaron nodded, pleased. “Good boy. If you’re not, you’ll be punished.”

Spencer scooted over with big eyes like he was afraid of falling over the edge of the Earth. Up onto Aaron’s lap he climbed, sore knee and all, and Aaron let him have it. The entire display was endearing. The whole timid mouse persona fit Spencer like a glove. 

He wrapped his arms around his waist and hiked him up a little bit closer so his back was flush against his chest, and Aaron could rest his chin on his shoulder, even if it meant being attacked by a golden mess of hair. 

“That’s my boy,” Aaron cooed, low and raspy, right in the crook of his neck like a kiss. The skin underneath his lips pricked up with gooseflesh. “My beautiful boy. So obedient.” 

Spencer stayed quiet, and Aaron hummed contentedly against him. His little frame melted into him, boneless and soft. His eyelids fluttered shut, for the longest time closed off to everything around them, most likely soaking up every mineut touch, each hot breath. He seemed to love the sensations, to bathe in them. Aaron wasn’t lost in the knowledge that it was probably the first time he’d ever had such a touch, such a long and loving embrace; something akin to romance. 

“Let’s talk, okay, Spence?” he said softly. Keeping Spencer calm was important.

“About what, Sir?” he asked, biting at his lip, in a small and familiar voice. The only voice that Aaron wanted to hear coming from those lips.

“About what we’re going to be doing this weekend. You’re going to come out with me for the day. We’re going to spend a little bit of time together.” 

Spencer didn’t reply, not with words, but he nodded lightly, and a slight hum just barely escaped his throat. His hand slid down to Aaron’s thigh and ghosted over it, hovering over the surface like it was afraid to land. 

“It’s okay, you can touch,” he purred. He didn’t have to see Spencer’s face to know he was blushing by now. A remark like that was sure to send him into a fit of embarrassment; directly calling him out on anything having to do with social or romantic interaction seemed to slash his IQ in half. By some rush of confidence, though, he pressed down and seemingly enjoyed it. Aaron smiled, thinking that Spencer could explore his body all he wanted. 

“On Saturday morning you’ll meet me here at my office. 7 am sharp. We’ll have a nice day. Nothing too heavy on the BDSM front, okay? No need to be nervous about it.” 

“M’not nervous,” Spencer told him with a hint of offense. So he didn’t like to be thought of as nervous, then.

“Okay, sweetheart. Let's talk about your list, then. Why don’t you tell me about what you wrote down, hm?”

“Oh… that.” he gulped. He shifted on the seat of Aaron’s lap, and Aaron caught his hips in his hands to still him. “Well, you read it, didn’t you? You know what it says already. Logically, I shouldn’t have to repeat what’s on the paper, really...”

Aarons smiled at Spencer’s relecutance. So endearing. “Go on, Spence. It’s not about logic and you know that.” 

Spencer groaned. “I wrote… um, I forget.”

Aaron laughed at this one, he couldn’t help it. It was almost a toss up between how adorable his embarrassment was and the offence that he would even consider that Aaron would fall for that. He really was innocent, even being a genius. Or just out of options. 

“No, you didn’t. Come on, Spence, i’ll help you. You wrote that being good for me turns you on. That it makes your mind go blank, helps you to feel less anxious. You like that, don’t you, not being in control for once?”

“I guess I do. I like not being... overstimulated all the time. I don’t think I’ve ever forced myself to not do anything before. My mind, uh, it’s always going a mile a minute. I can read 20,000 words a minute.”

“I know.” Hotch said, moving away the ice pack that was now lukewarm. “We’ll work on meditation together, it’ll be good for you.”

“And I, um, I do like being good for you.” He blushed, ducking his head and smiling. 

“I know you do, sweetheart, and you’re such a good boy. You have so much potential.”

“I also wrote… that I thought that kneeling was exciting. Which I did today,” he said, looking at his knee. “And even though it was a punishment, I kinda liked it.” He fidgeted a bit on Aaron’s lap. “Well, no, I mean, it hurt— like a lot, and I couldn’t do it all the way, which I’m _sorry_ for, I swear, but also, like after… I think I kind of liked it. Maybe if there wasn’t a coin under my knee?”

“Is that a question?”

“Um… no, Sir?”

“It’s okay to feel whatever you’re feeling, Spencer, don’t be ashamed to admit anything to me. There’s no right or wrong with your preferences. There’s only right or wrong when I give you a rule. Okay?”

Spencer smiled, but Aaron could only catch the slightest bit from the side on his mouth. “Yeah, okay.” 

“You also said you wanted to call me ‘Daddy’,” he grinned. 

Spencer gasped, his hands stilling, face red and eyes shut tight. “Uuhh...”

“Remember what I just told you? Don’t be ashamed, sweetheart.”

“That’s easier in theory, Sir.” Spencer let out a little squeak. “But. Uh. I did write that. I mean… not that I’d want to call _you_ that. I just meant, you know, in general… the term represents a sexual undertone of powerplay, sort of like what we’re doing, which I’m kind of liking, so I just thought, and I didn’t mean in any which way really, or to infer that you were my—” 

“Spencer.” Aaron moved his hand onto his chest, putting some pressure on it, and the other down his arm. “Shh. You can say you like it. It's okay.” 

“I…” 

“Go on, sweetheart, tell Daddy you like it.”

“Oh, _fuck._ ” He shuddered.

__Aaron’s cock twitched in his pants watching him heat up at his mere words. He was so easy to manipulate, so easy to excite. Aaron would be his Daddy if it made him that red faced and abashed. Aaron would do _anything_ for him like that. _ _

__“No cursing, Spencer.”_ _

__“I like it,” he said, paled, with stars littered in his eyes. He really lacked for a parental figure; it was no wonder it manifested so strongly in a Daddy kink._ _

__“Go ahead.” Aaron smirked, and stroked his cheek with his thumb. “I know you want to.”_ _

__Spencer breathed out with a shaky throat, “Daddy.”_ _

__“Good boy.”_ _

__Embarrassed, and looking down, he whispered under his breath with a smile, “ _Daddy._ ”_ _

__Aaron wrapped his arms tightly around him, hugging him from behind. He smelled sweet like coconut shampoo, and was surprisingly warm for such a thin thing. It lasted a few minutes, just the two of them sitting pressed together and breathing silently. Aaron missed having someone to pull close. He missed it a lot. He didn’t want to let go of him. Not now, not ever. His boy was too warm, too beautiful, too soft._ _

__When he did part, however, he held out his hand and demanded that he give him his cell phone._ _

__“I don’t have a cell phone,” Spencer said._ _

__“You, wait— what? Why not?”_ _

__Spencer shrugged. “Don’t like ‘em.”_ _

__Aaron tsk’ed. “You do now.”_ _

__“I hate technology.” Spencer shook his head. “Don’t wanna carry it around with me all the time.”_ _

__“Well, you are. It’s a rule. You have to be accessible to me. That means carrying a cellphone.”_ _

__Spencer rolled his eyes, but Aaron couldn’t see. “I—”_ _

__He tightened his hand on his hip. “End of discussion.”_ _

__“Fine…” he whispered._ _

__“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”_ _

__“I guess not.”_ _

__“Hm, anything you’d like to add to that, Spence?”_ _

__“Uh, Sir. Sorry, Sir.” He blushed._ _

__“That’s right.” Aaron looked down at his watch, and slid Spencer off his lap, pointedly ignoring the soft whimper that he let out in protest. _This boy is going to be that death of me_ , he thought. “It’s been nearly two hours, Spencer, don’t you have a midday class?”_ _

__“Yes, Sir. Introductions to Psychopathology. I didn’t want to say anything, though.”_ _

__“You can always speak up about something like that, okay? I don’t want your education to suffer. You’re a very smart young man. I like that about you.”_ _

__Spencer bit his lip and nodded, smiling. “Yes, Sir. I will.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Hotch isn’t consistent with punishments/rules and expected Spencer to fail but that’s kind of the point; he sucks. Thanks for reading and commenting and kudoing, I appreciate that stuff fr. Next chap… 20th, I think. 😁


	13. Don't Ever...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Chap Spencer sat on Daddy's lap and didn't get punished for the coin.

_"But you really need to listen to me_

_Because I'm telling you the truth_

_I mean this, I'm okay!_

_(Trust Me)"_

―My Chemical Romance, I’m Not Okay

* * *

The next day was one with few classes. That meant Ethan bugging him about getting coffee, meeting up at the student center, and other miscellaneous things that he’d rather not do. Except for getting coffee. That one was fine. 

There was a shop on campus called the Two Bean Problem. It was the only one that wasn’t a big chain like Dunkin’ Donuts or Starbucks. While Spencer didn’t mind those, and he really enjoyed how much sugar you could stuff in your Starbucks order without getting a funny look, Ethan won’t step foot in either. 

So they ended up at Two Bean with a graveyard of empty paper cups littering their table, and more caffeine in their veins than blood; that’s the way that they preferred it. Ethan prattled on about Elle as usual, and Spencer wondered how he could never run out about things to say about her. It wasn’t like they’d ever been on a date. She wasn’t his girlfriend. She didn’t even hang out with him that much. Plus she didn’t show up at his party the other day. Yet, there he was listing off the different ways she likes to pair the color of her shoes with her shirts, and getting googly eyed about the way she snorts a little when she laughs real hard. 

Spencer was only halfway listening as he finished off some assignments for the week. He wanted to get everything done early so that he’d have the weekend free for himself and whatever it was his Professor had in store. Ethan didn’t really seem to notice, either. He was too lost in his own self-constructed fantasy world. 

They stayed until three in the afternoon before they realized they wasted nearly the entire day, and Ethan decidedly dragged him to the student center, which may have been his plan all along. The student center was a decent place with lots of games, both board and video, and lots of people hanging around, if that was your thing. It was definitely Ethan’s thing. He was the current reigning champion of scrabble and didn’t let anyone forget about it. (As if anyone could with his picture tacked up to the wall)

Ethan didn’t let Spencer play scrabble because he didn’t think it was very fair. He was a lore loser like that. He didn’t let him play any of the games with him. When he could help it, he didn’t let Spencer play any of the games with anyone else either; it caused too much controversy. In the middle of a match, though, Ethan couldn’t keep tabs on him, so while Ethan was plotting his next big payout with the letter “Q” and a triple point space, Spencer was sitting down for a round of poker with a few unlucky people. 

Some guy by the name of Doug was dealing the cards and Spencer could already calculate which cards were which just from some preliminary glances. Counting cards wasn’t so much a technique so much as it was a basic fucking reflex for anyone that could count to 52 and possesed two brain cells to rub together. To look at his cards and not automatically sort them out in his mind was like asking a blind man to stop listening. 

Bets were placed. It was poverty poker so the stakes were low and most everyone was chiming in with dollar bills. When that’s all you got though, a dollar is a lot. Getting through the first round was easy enough. Spencer was already proving himself to be miles ahead of everyone else at the table, and getting side eyes from the other players wasn’t exactly something that he wasn’t used to, but Doug was looking at him with a fire in his eye and a twitchy mouth that was two minutes away from bursting open. Another round of bets were tossed into the middle of the table, the girl next to Spencer folded, the one to the right matched, and the boy two seats over raised by three. Spencer raised and knew he had this one in the bag. Doug’s eyes had not left him yet, and as soon as the girl folded and the boy laid down his cards, Spencer threw him down and grabbed at the pile of money in the table. Doug reached out and grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks, and Spencer couldn’t help but glance over towards Ethan on instinct, but he was too engrossed in his game to notice what was going on over with him. 

“Uh, what the fuck?” Spencer said, trying to yank his arm back. Doug tightened his grip.

“You’re cheating.”

“I am not!”

Doug scoffed. “Yeah, you are. I can tell. What are you doing? Did you stack the deck?” He looked around at everyone at the table. “Whose cards are these?”

The girl to his right shrugged, and the boy two seats down laughed and said it was his. Spencer grinned. “See? Not mine. Now let go of me.”

“I don’t know what you’re doing, but you’d better stop.”

“I’m not doing anything, asshole.”

The girl to his right spoke up. “He’s obviously counting cards.” 

Doug rolled his eyes. “Right, of course. Fucking nerd.”

Spencer’s face fell into a frown. “Hey, fuck you. I can’t help it. It’s too easy.”

“Too easy? Yeah, you definitely are a nerd. Don’t you know counting cards is illegal?”

“Illegal? No, actually, it’s not. And besides, we’re playing in fucking student center with a bunch of twenty year olds and a couple dollar bills. What about this screams ‘serious’ to you?”

The girl on the other side of him left the table, which was probably a good move on her part. Doug let go of his arm by sending it flying and making Spencer topple over and nearly fall from his chair. “Watch it!” 

“Get the hell out of here, dude,” Dough sneered. “We don’t want assholees like you cheating everyone out of their money. We’re trying to have a fair game.”

“Fair?!” Spencer spat. “Learn a little bit of math, why don't you, then? It’s not my fucking fault that you guys can’t figure out the basic prinipals of poker.” 

“Nobody knows that shit! It’s not normal.”

“Yes it is! It’s basic statistics! Multiply your number of outs by two, calculate your equity, and figure out the percent chance of getting the right cards to complete your hand. What, is that too difficult for your little brain?”

“Fuck off, dude! Noone wants to hear it! Just leave.” He started shuffling the deck again while avoiding eye contact with Spencer, and everyone at the table started grabbing for their money back, what the hell! He couldn’t just sit there and not see the patterns in the cards, and everyone else should try to do it if they couldn’t by heart. It wasn’t his fault that everyone else was daft as hell. Especially Doug. He was the most thick headed. 

“Leave, dude!” Doug shouted at Spencer, who was still sitting in his seat, seething. 

“No!” Spencer yelled right back at him. 

“Yes!” Doug stood up. He was taller than Spencer thought. Beefy, too. He could probably snap him in half. 

“Fuck you, asshole! You can’t make me do shit!” Spencer stood too. He was also tall. 

By this time, Ethan was looking over at the scene that Spencer was making and sighing. He clearly didn’t want to leave his game, but he rushed over towards Spencer who was already backing away from Doug. Doug had his fists balled and was breathing heavy, his face red, and Ethan knew that Spencer would end up a pulp within a minute if he didn’t yank him back and drag him from the center, no matter how much he was yelling and squirming in protest. 

Ethan almost had him out the door when he broke free and Doug took the opportunity to lumber over and get a solid swing in, clocking Spencer square in the jaw. He went down like a lead balloon. The girl that was still at the table gasped, and everyone else was watching with bated breath. Spencer got up to his elbows on the floor and spat out a bit of saliva mixed with blood, to which one of the kids that works at the center scoffed with his face all twisted up in frustration and disgust. 

“Break it up, you two! Doug, don’t make me ban you!” the kid shouted. Doug glanced over but didn’t pay much mind to the kid. He topped a chair over and huffed before shoving Spencer with his shoe and stalking out of the room. 

“What the hell, Spence?!” Ethan said. “What’s wrong with you?!”

“I didn’t do anything. That guy was being an asswipe.” he mumbled, rubbing the sore part of his jaw. He read once that bruises can start to take effect within 24 hours, and this one definitely felt worthy of a black and blue. 

“Just get up, I’m taking you home. I’ll take a look at your chin.”

“I’m fine.” 

Ethan scoffed. “You're not fine, you just got punched out by a dude twice your size.”

“Well what are you gonna do about it? You’re not a doctor.” 

“Okay, so you want me to take you to the health clinic? Cause I can certainly do that.”

“No! Fuck, fine.” Spencer scowled. “Let’s go. I’m fine.”

Ethan hailed him up. “Or I can leave you here on the floor to die. I was winning, you know,” he grumbled under his breath and took one last side long glance at the scrabble table. 

Spencer got up to his feet and everything throbbed from his head to his jaw, to his still-sore kneecap. Damn, he really wanted to be in bed. 

Ethan made him walk upright by himself, it wasn’t like he got his legs hurt, but nudged him a bit whenever he started to veer off balance. They made it back to the dorm and Spencer immediately made a beeline for the bedroom where he didn’t even bother changing into pajamas, instead closing his eyes and fell asleep. 

Ethan stared at him from the doorway shaking his head and muttering about what a dick he was under his breath. Spencer was a lot of work for such a smart kid.

. . . 

Walking into class the next day had Spencer on edge. His face looked like someone put it in a blender and poured it back on with all the culinary talent of a five year old. From his jaw all the way up to his cheekbone was a deep purple bruise. Spencer checked it out in the mirror earlier in the morning and was able to catalogue all of the colors smearing his skin. The bruise itself wasn’t horrible; it was only superficial capillary damage, but the contrast was severe against his pale complexion.

In the seat that he’d been accustomed to sitting in, there was a small box with his name on it. He sat down, and inside the box there was a cellphone not wrapped in the original packaging. It was a Nokia 3310, and worth $160.00, which he knew from scanning an ad in the newspaper a few weeks back. 

He looked up to find Professor Hotchner's eyes on him. He blushed. He couldn’t remember The last time someone gave him a gift that wasn’t on his birthday. Or from Ethan. Mostly from Ethan on his birthday. 

Spencer took a deep breath, held it in, then breathed out. From the moment he woke up he felt drained, but now he was feeling full to the brim with nerves and excitement. His smile was growing bashful and goofy across his lips and he tried to hide it, but it didn’t work well. 

Professor Hotchner was still staring at him while he looked at the phone in his hands. He didn’t even want the stupid thing, but it was a gift from _him,_ so it didn’t matter what it was. Plus he didn’t have much of a choice, did he? He made that crystal clear. 

It made his heart flutter in his chest like a little hummingbird. 

He mouthed, ‘Thank you, Sir’ down at him, but he just diverted his attention towards another student who was trying to ask a question. On the little green screen was a letter icon and he clicked on it with the ‘ok’ button. It was sent from a few hours prior, and it popped up on the screen in blocky black letters.

**Enjoy the new phone. See me after class, sweetheart. H.**

He smiled and another text popped up on the screen, this one from just now. 

**I’m not pleased about your face. You’re going to explain that later. H.**

He looked up to find eyes on him again and mouthed, ‘Yes, Sir’ with a torrent of nervous energy surging back at him full force. 

Fuck. Should’ve known that Professor Hotchner would have something to say about that. He was probably going to criticize his reckless behavior and how he shouldn’t be getting into fights. How he should think before he acts, how he should have been more _courteous._

It wasn’t his fault, though; he didn’t even swing! The jerk came onto him, anyway, and for no good reason at all. 

Fuck, though. Professor Hotchner wasn’t going to care about any of that. Spencer groaned, and hoped to god that he wasn’t going to get spanked over this. He was hurting enough already. 

Now that he had a phone he could ask, too. The buttons were annoying and he had to click out multiple times just to find a particular letter, but he got it. 

**r u going 2 spank me? im srry s.**

**Depends. Would you like that? H.**

**no Sir s.**

**In that case, I might. I still don’t know what happened. Wait until after class, Spencer. H.**

Class felt twice as long as usual, and even listening to Professor Hotchner's smooth voice didn’t help soothe him. When everyone finally left and he locked the doors without being asked, he was beckoned to the front of the room and took a seat at the desk. 

“Explain.” He gestured at Spencer’s face. “ _Who_ did that to you?”

“Um, some guy punched me during a game of poker. I didn’t even do anything. He was being a dick, Sir.”

“Give me a name,” he deadpanned. 

Spencer swallowed. “Uh, Doug.”

“Why did he punch you?”

“Uh, ‘cause he’s an ass,” Spencer mumbled. 

“Tell me the real reason or I will spank you until you do, Spencer.” He stared down at him with a disapproving frown.

Spence shifted his feet on the ground and felt the sting of the bruise on his face much too acutely. “He was mad that I was counting cards. He thought it was illegal. He’s an idiot, Sir.” 

“Is that it?” 

“Yeah. And, um, then I called him stupid and told him to go fuck himself,” he admitted. “But he totally deserved it...”

“You shouldn't provoke people like That. Especially when they’re capable of this,” he said, making Spencer crane his face to the side so he could get a better view of the bruise. “I assume he was bigger than you. You have to be more careful. What if you’d been seriously hurt?”

“What, over a stupid game of poker with a bunch of kids?”

He tsk’ed. “No, over provoking someone with a bad attitude and the strength to back it up. That’s just idiotic.”

“Hey—” he barked out. “You can’t call me an idiot!”

“Yes, I can.” Aaron smiled. “And don’t forget your manners.”

Spencer furrowed his brows in frustration and let out a sharp breath. “You can’t call me an idiot, Sir.”

Professor Hotchner let go of his face. “You _were_ being an idiot. You tend to do that.” He crouched down in front of where Spencer was sitting and looked up at him, smirked. “My little idiot. Tell me you were being a stupid little brat.” 

Spencer crossed his arms over his chest. Professor Hotchner was not going to get him to admit that. He wasn’t a brat, and he definitly wasn’t _stupid._ He had 187 points of IQ to back that up. “I won’t.”

“Coming from the boy with a purple face,” he laughed. “Tell me you were being stupid and you won’t do it again. If you come to me looking like this again and I find out you instigated it, I will make you regret it.”

“Are you gonna punish me now?” Spencer said slowly, twiddling his fingers together in his lap.

“No.” 

Spencer looked up and breathed out a sigh of relief. “Really?” 

“Yes, really.” Professor Hotchner frowned.

“Thank you, Sir!” He broke out in a smile and leaned forward, wrapping his arms around his neck and hugging him tight. “Oh thank god. I didn’t wanna be spanked. I’m so sorry.”

Professor Hotchner hugged him back, wrapping his arms around his waist making all his inside gooey. “But I will if you don’t tell me what I want to hear, Spence.”

Spencer let go and pouted. It wasn’t going to work, though. No amount of puffy lips and puppy dog eyes were going to get him out of doing what he was told. Professor Hotchner was proving far too strict for that. Whenever Professor Hotchner wanted something, he got it. Sometimes he just had to use some force to get there. 

“Do I have to...?”

He cocked an eyebrow at him.

“But, Sir—!”

Professor Hotchner stood back up and unzipped his fly, bringing his cock out in front of Spencer’s pouting face. 

“Let’s see how you like saying it with your face full of cock and spit then, hm?”

“Oh— I, um,” Spencer backpedaled. “I’m—”

His cock was pressed up against Spencer’s lips, and he opened up like a good boy. He stuck out his tongue and let his Professor rub his cock against it, getting it nice and wet. When he pressed in, he closed his lips around it and his eyes slid shut. 

Professor Hotchner started pulsing in and out of his mouth and he moaned into it in the back of his throat. His jaw was sore to the touch and throbbing a little from being opened so wide but the feeling of his cock was ten times better than the bruise was painful. 

“Mmh. My good boy,” Professor Hotchner growled under his breath. “Look up at me, Spence,” he said. “Don’t you look away from me. Eyes stay up.”

“Yeushsur,” he garbled out. 

Spencer’s cock was growing hard in his pants and starting to ache in an uncomfortable way. He moaned with need around his cock and tried not to let his eyes waver away. 

He shifted in his seat as he kept thrusting into his mouth and he saddled his thighs around Professor Hotchner's leg and started grinding himself against it. 

Above him he heard a laugh and he stilled, feeling hot with embarrassment for being all too lost in the moment. 

“A little eager, are we, Spence?” he chuckled. “It’s okay. Keep going, sweetheart.”

Spencer wanted to close his eyes so badly. It was really embarrassing to be humping his professor's leg with his mouth full of cock and the knowledge that it was all primal instinct that he was acting on. Then to top it off he had to watch as Professor Hotchner looked down at him with a wicked smirk, feeling so small and helpless. 

He kept going. 

Professor Hotchner's cock slid down his throat again and again giving him a sort of pleasure that made him feel _used_ and _possessed._ It made him feel really, really good. It took away all the bad that happened yesterday and made it okay for a little bit. It felt as if the entire world was melting away and all that was left was this one little classroom with him and Professor Hotchner inside. 

“Oh god, Spence, such a pretty little mouth,” he groaned.

Spencer gagged and kept rubbing his cock against his leg. 

“Such a pretty mouth for such a stupid little boy,” he growled. “But you’re so good for me aren’t you, baby? When you’ve got your mouth open for me taking my cock? That’s when you’re at your best.” 

There wasn’t much he could do besides groan into it, because he couldn’t talk or shake his head or even look away. At the moment he didn’t even feel like disagreeing, either. He wanted to be a good boy. He wanted to obey Professor Hotchner. He would do what he told him. 

“There you go, Spence, relax, sweetheart, you have to take all of it.” He pressed in even farther, enough that Spencer's lips were almost touching the course hair at his groin, and he started to feel his muscles spasm and gag. 

“Shh,” he cooed. “Take it.” 

He slid out and right back down deep. Spit dripped down his lips and off his chin. His throat was burning. “Good boy. Such a good boy.” 

Tears were pricking at Spencer’s eyes and he wished they wouldn’t fall but his cock was tickling down deep in his throat a third time and he couldn’t help it as they welled up and splashed cheeks. “Uufff—” His own cock was painfully hard in his pants and pressing up against his zipper, but he still kept humping the leg, desperate for anything. 

“That’s it, Spence. So pretty.”

He gagged again, kept moving his hips until Professor Hotchner started to thrust in harder and told him to stop grinding up against him. Spencer cried out but stopped even when he was throbbing painfully at the loss of contact. 

“Tell me,” he commanded. 

Spencer sucked in a deep breath and struggled to form words. “Wha- I-” 

“You know what I want to hear, and I won't repeat myself.”

Spencer whined, hips aching to move, jaw sore and head spinning. Why was he being so adamant on this? “No, I-” 

_Smack._ “Ah-!” Spencer cried. He was struck across the cheek and the sting bit him like a viper. “Ow, that hurt!” 

“That’s that point,” Professor Hotchner growled. He raised his hand up again, level with his face, and said in a slow, antagonizing voice, “Obey me, Spencer.”

“I’m n-not-” 

_Smack._

“Please, sto-”

_Smack._

_Smack._

“Professor-”

_Smack._

The pain shot through his cheek and he reeled back, stumbling on his knees. 

“Where do you think you're going?” Professor Hotchner hissed. He grabbed the back of Spencer’s head, fingers laced through his hair and he tugged _hard_ , bringing him back up straight. _Smack._. 

“You don’t like this do you, baby?” he said. “Be a good boy and it’ll stop.”

_Smack._

“When you’re a bratty little boy, you make me do this. I don’t want to hurt you, Spencer, but you have to learn.” 

“M sorry, Sir-” he choked out. Tears were begging to well up again inside, only this time it wasn’t a _physical_ response. A big uncomfortable lump in his throat bobbed and hot tears fell down his cheeks as he started breathing big, heavy breaths, sobbing. 

“Crying won’t help you,” he said coolly. Spencer looked up and met his cold eyes but it only made his breath hitch and his tears flow faster. Maybe he _was_ stupid. Professor Hotchner was right about a lot of things. Professor Hotchner was 13 years older than him. Professor Hotchner was always right. _He was right about this too._

_Smack._

“No! Please, I’m sorry! Sir, Please! I- I-” he reached out and grabbed at his Professor’s pant legs, twisting them tightly in his fist. “I’m stupid. I am. I’m- I’m a stupid little brat and I’m so, _so_ sorry, I mean it, please, Sir, don’t-” 

“Shhh. Good boy,” he whispered. “Feisty, aren’t you? I knew you would be a good boy, come here.” He opened his palm and spencer nuzzled his cheek against it, closing his eyes, and sighing. His thumb slid across his face, swollen and covered in red blotchy prints. He winced at it, but swallowed it down because he didn't want to offend. He was just a stupid little brat. He has to mind his manners and be good. 

His hand slipped down to his chin and forced his mouth open with a hard press. He peered up with his mouth wide open and met Professor Hotchner’s dark eyes again. They weren’t angry anymore, but severe with _hunger._

Professor Hotchner pushed his cock back in his mouth, wasted no time in pressing all the way in, and he tried to suppress a gag. He tasted precum on his tongue and then Professor Hotchner held his hand on the back of his head keeping him flush against his groin with his dick all the way down his throat. He held it there until Spencer didn’t think he could stand it any long, the corners of his vision spotting with black, and then he was free, gasping and panting. It happened several more times and then Professor Hotchner was cumming a shuddering groan. 

Spencer sputtered and gagged. 

He pulled out so he could catch his breath. He gasped in for air and his chest heaved. He swallowed the entire load and Professor Hotched smiled proudly at him with lips smeared in spit and cum. 

“Good boy,” he said. “You swallowed it all.” 

“Yes—” he gasped. A little missed drop of cum dripped down his chin, right over his purple skin. “S-Sir—“

“Such a good, obedient boy,” he purred. “Rub yourself again, Spence. You want to cum, don’t you?” 

Spencer’s heart flared up at the mention of him cumming and he jumped at the chance, grinding his cock against his Professor’s leg like an animal, not even caring how humiliating it was. “Yes, Sir!”

“You like my cock down your throat, Spence?”

“Yes, Sir! _Ooh—”_

“Tell me.”

“I— I like when you fuck my mouth, Sir— _uunnf._ Your cock tastes so good, feels so good going — _ooh_ — down my throat.”

“Mmh, little slut.”

“Aah— fuck, Sir,” he moaned. “C-can I cum? _Fuck,_ please? Sir?”

“Yes, sweetheart, once you tell me you were being a stupid little boy you can cum.” He smirked. 

Spencer wanted to implode in a weird mix of frustration, ecstasy, and submission. He really didn’t want to say he was being an idiot _again,_ even though he was, and he really, really wanted to give in and say it because he was told to, and he really wanted to make Professor Hotchner call him a good boy, tell him he did a good job, and say he was proud, and he wanted to cum, like _yesterday, _but fuck—__

__“I— _aaruuh,_ ” he groaned, and his feet twitched in muffled annoyance. He moved his cock against his leg in steady rhythm. “I was—! I was being, being stupid! A stupid little brat, I’m sorry! I’m such a brat! Let me cum! _Please._ I was so stupid! I’m sorry! Sir? _Please?_ ” His hips jerked erratically as he begged. _ _

__“That’s my good boy. Go ahead, baby.”_ _

__Spencer came in his pants._ _

__“Messy little thing,” Professor Hotchner chuckled, and bent down to press a kiss on his sweaty forehead, whispering deep and threatening, lips barely ghosting over his skin. “Don’t ever let me catch you looking like this again or I swear to god I will hunt down whoever did this to you and I will kill them.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next updoodle... the 26th. Maybe 25 but idk I have work so well see. 
> 
> Also throwing it out there: There's going to be inconsistency in this story. I wrote it months ago and I was doing this 'get the idea out' thing without worry much about what I was writing, hence a lot of plot holes, but I'm just a glorified smut writer tbh so like, this is what ya get. Not that anyone's complaining, but you know how it be. love you guys. 
> 
> Hit up my Tumblr btw goobzoop.tumblr.com
> 
>   
> OH and check out this [rad drawing](https://carltonlassie.tumblr.com/post/632365157972082688/goobzoop-pls-accept-my-humblest-offering-of) (18+ obv) that [Cueonego](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cueonego/pseuds/cueonego) did! Thank you again 😭❤️


	14. French Toast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chap Spencer was disciplined for losing his temper at poker and damaging Professor Hotchner's goods.

_"The darker the night, the brighter the stars."_

―Fyodor Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment

* * *

The next few days passed uneventfully. The bruise on Spencer’s chin turned a lighter yellow-greenish color as a result of the bilirubin breaking down underneath his skin. It was less shocking now, more of a gross looking mark. 

The cell that Professor Hotchner gave him was always tucked into his back pocket, though it hadn’t received any messages since the first time in lecture hall. 

It was Saturday morning and that meant meeting Professor Hotchner at his office for a day full of who-knows-what. Spencer’s alarm rang at 6:30am, which he snoozed until 6:40, and it gave him a whopping 20 minutes to be across campus and in the office with clean clothes on and a cup of coffee in hand. 

At 6:52 he ran out of his dorm with his feet wedged haphazardly in his shoes, his head still full of sleep. He arrived huffing and puffing at Professor Hotchner’s door only seven minutes late, and completely out of breath. 

He ran the entire way over and he still didn’t have any coffee yet. First he knocked, then walked in to find his Professor sitting at his desk with a frown. 

“I’m—” _Huff_ “I’m sorry I’m late, Sir.”

“Take a seat, Spencer.” 

“Yes, Sir.” He sat across from him and watched as he silently leafed through papers, sorting them out, and writing a few things down. Grading papers, Spencer assumed. 

“Fix your shirt. You look like a mess” he said without looking up. Spencer pressed the collar of his shirt down, silently cursing himself for not noticing. It was also slightly wrinkled, but it was the best he could do at six in the morning, which was earlier than he’d woken up in years.

“Not an early bird, Spencer?”

“Uh, no, Sir.” Spencer laughed nervously. “Not exactly. I don’t usually schedule classes this early on purpose.”

He clicked his tongue and assembled the papers into a neat pile. “Shame. Mornings are very peaceful.” 

“Oh. I guess.” 

“Are you hungry?” 

“No, Sir,” Spencer said. “But, uh, I could really use some coffee.”

Professor Hotchner nodded, seemingly agreeing. He put away his paperwork, got up from his desk, and herded him out the door and into the parking lot where he instructed him to get into his SUV, an ‘05 Ford Explorer by the looks of it. 

Spencer was slightly worried someone would notice that he was getting into a Professor’s car, but the parking lot was more or less empty. It was seven am on a Saturday morning, after all. 

They drove for three quarters of an hour, every minute of which Spencer’s stomach growled for caffeine. Professor Hotchner let him talk which helped pass time. Talking to him was actually pretty easy, because he could understand all the complicated topics that his friends never could. It made him unreasonably happy to prattle on about stochastic processes and not get interrupted. Professor Hotchner was a good listener; he even asked questions when he ran out of steam. 

They pulled up to a chintzy looking family owned diner and were given seats near the window. 

“I’m not hungry, though,” Spencer said. He shrugged off his coat and sat down in the booth. 

“I know. You’re going to eat.”

“But I’m not hungry.”

“You’re going to eat. That’s the end of it.”

With a disgruntled huff he picked up the menu, attitude seeping out from each pore. There were pictures of platters with bacon and eggs, sausage, and loads of pancakes and waffles. 

“Pick anything you want.”

“Don’t want anything. Just coffee.”

“Don’t be difficult, Spencer,” Professor Hotchner said, looking sternly at him. 

“I thought you said we weren’t going to do BDSM today?” he asked in a small voice. He was confused about what today was going to be like because so far he was just getting ordered around. 

“When did I say that?” He furrowed his brows. He looked a bit off. 

“On Wednesday you said, _‘We’ll have a nice day. Nothing too heavy on the BDSM front, okay? No need to be nervous about it’._ So I thought you wouldn’t be bossing me around…”

“Oh. Right.” Professor Hotchner shook his head. “I forgot all about that, I’m sorry.” He laughed a bit and took a sip of water. “You don’t have to eat. I meant what I said, even if I forgot for a moment. No BDSM today, or at least not too heavy. Maybe a little, though, sweetheart.” He winked. 

Spencer blushed. “Okay. That’s okay with me.” 

“Good. Now tell the waitress what you want.” He flagged down the girl at the counter and she came over to take their orders. 

“Just coffee, please,” Spencer said with a smile, pointedly ignoring the disapproval that was written on Professor Hotchner’s face. He put in an order of his own, and she went back to the front. 

Professor Hotchner laced his hands on the table. “This is your eighth year here?” 

“Yeah. Well, not just here. I went to CalTech for Mathematics, but yes, I’m starting again for the third time. This one I’ll get my bachelors in psychology.” 

“That’s a big divergence from math and chemistry.”

“How’d you know I...” he trailed off. Of course he knew. Everyone knew. “Well, yeah, it is. But I find it really interesting. I don’t just like the subjects with black and white answers, contrary to what everyone may think.”

Spencer thought for a moment, and continued, “I know I’m… the way I am. Genius, autistic, atypical, whatever you want to call it, but I’m not a calculator. Or an encyclopedia. I find psychology really interesting.” 

“With a mind like yours I’m sure you could find just about anything interesting,” he smiled. 

Spencer‘s stomach flopped. He didn’t usually feel anything when people complimented his intellect— he was so over saturated with remarks about how smart he was— but coming from Professor Hotchner it felt genuine. “Mmh, I guess.”

“When I was your age I was in my second year of political science with dreams of getting into law school,” he mused. “So much has changed since then.”

“Why didn’t you stay a prosecutor?”

His Professor smirked. “I never said.”

“I, uh.” Spencer ducked his head to hide his blush. “Yeah, okay, I might have looked you up.” He caught Professor Hotchner’s smug smile. “Only a little!”

“I guess we’re in the same boat then.” He winked. 

“You looked into me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” 

“I think you’re fascinating,” he said like it was nothing. “And that you’re stunningly gorgeous.” 

Spencer couldn’t help but giggle, hell, he turned beet red and hot to the touch. 

“I’m sure you already know that, sweetheart.” Professor Hotchner grinned. He was loving this. “But I didn’t stay a prosecutor because I couldn’t sit behind a desk all day watching criminals filter through the system, not even half getting what they deserve. I wanted to do more. I think I found that in the FBI; there I felt like I was making a difference. Getting the bad guys before they could get a chance to do more harm. It helped. For a while, anyway, it was good.”

“Then what?” Spencer asked reflexively, then bit his tongue. He knew _what._ Foyet was _what._

“Well.” Professor Hotchner cleared his throat. “There were complications in a case. I'm sure you heard about it, it nearly cost me my life...”

The waitress came over, set down their food in front of them, and Spencer immediately made grabby hands at his coffee. He looked back up at Professor Hotcher for him to continue. 

“In a way, it did,” he continued. Spencer didn’t take a sip. “I lost custody of my son. I don’t get to see him anymore. He’s as good as gone. I wish, I don’t know. I just wish I had him back.” He looked over at Spencer with a confused expression. Spencer could tell he didn’t make a habit of talking about these things. 

Spencer saw him across the table looking at him with a soft expression. He rubbed his chin and laughed. “Go ahead, drink your coffee. Enough of this talk.” He pushed Spencer’s mug closer to him. “I know you want it.”

Spencer smiled and dumped five packets of sugar in before savoring it and moaning. 

“That’s a lot of sugar, he chuckled. 

“I love sugar.” Spencer blushed, and took another sip. 

Professor Hotchner had a plate of French toast in front of him topped with bananas, syrup, and confectioners sugar. Spencer didn’t even glance at it. Where was this boy's appetite?

“Here, have a bite,” he said, holding out his fork. 

“No, I’m good. Thanks.” 

“Just one?” he asked. “Please?”

Spencer grinned. “Now you’re begging me?” He shifted in his seat, feeling sort of giddy. “That’s different.” In his head he added, _‘Sir’._

“Just this once. You’ll like it. It’s full of sugar.”

“I’ve never had french toast. It looks soggy.” 

“Come on. Just try. Open up.” He smirked. 

Spencer rolled his eyes but his face was fire. “Fine!” He took the forkful and shoved it in his mouth, the flavors of syrup, cinnamon, and butter swirling around and nearly making him moan. It was savory and so, so sweet, sort of crispy on the edges but soft and creamy on the inside which was a wonderful texture. 

“Oh, god,” he said, mouth full, and Professor Hotchner laughed. 

“Good, huh?” 

Spencer nodded happily. “Oh yeah.”

“See? It’s good to try new things.” He winked. 

“Mmmhm. Yes, Sir.”

“You don’t have to call me Sir today, remember? We’ll be more like… friends.”

Spencer perked his head up from his coffee mug. “Friends?”

“Just for today.” 

Spencer nodded. He tried to suppress a smile but it came out all lopsided. 

Professor Hotchner took a sip of coffee. “You can call me Aaron.” 

“I—wh- really?“ Spencer stuttered. “I-I can’t.”

“Yes, really. It’s okay. That’s my name after all.” 

Spencer shifted in his seat trying to get comfortable. “...Aaron,” he said, trying the name out in his mouth. He liked it. “Ok, Aaron. Gimme some more French toast.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more chap on 29th (midnight so it's basically 28th but not really)


	15. Cozy Sweaters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the last chapter Professor Hotchner took Spencer out to breakfast while on their special day out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ty to [Degrassi-Fanatic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/degrassifanatic) for making me not be lazy

_"Bla-bla-black sheep, have you any soul?_

_No sir, by the way, what the hell are morals_

_Jack, be nimble, Jack, be quick_

_Jill's a little whore and her alibis are dirty tricks"_

―Set It Off, A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

* * *

After breakfast, with a full belly stuffed with one too many of Profes-Aaron’s french toast, Aaron took him to the mall to look at clothes. Apparently his were too worn out and even though he didn’t really care for fashion, he went along with it. 

Sometime after leaving Vegas Spencer hit a growth spurt leaving everything he owned to come from a thrift store. That, or it was given to him from one or two of the more charitable professors at university. He looked like a cross between a middle schooler and a middle aged man. Plus, Aaron said that no boy of his was going to wear some other man's clothes. If Spencer was going to be wearing anyone’s clothes, they’d be his. _Possessive._

He couldn’t deny the shiver it sent down his spine. 

Clothes were clothes, though. Spencer didn’t care what they looked like so long as something was covering him up and warm enough in the winter for him not to freeze to death. That one was important. DC got really chilly. 

“Pick a few out that you want,” Aaron told him. They were in the men’s section of Macy’s looking at button downs. 

“Uh, I don’t know,” he said, trailing a finger along a pin striped button down. “They all look the same. I mean, this one is blue. Blue is nice…?”

“Then we’ll get you that one. Find your size. Pick a couple.” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

Aaron raised an eyebrow. 

“I mean, uh, yes, Aaron.”

Aaron laughed and shook his head. “Do you want me to spank you until you remember? ”

Spencer ducked behind a rack of clothes to hide his red face and tried to focus on picking out some shirts. “No,” he giggled. Hotch smirked but averted his gaze to the rack of clothes, so he did too. He honestly thought they all looked the same. Some had pinstripes, some were solid, but they were all just shirts, who cared? 

He pulled out a few in small and handed them over to Aaron who looked them up and down and nodded. Spencer wondered what he thought about them because he seemed to have a lot more experience with dressing appropriately. 

Next he took him to pick out a few pairs of jeans, two pairs of slacks, a pair of converse sneakers and a pair of loafers that made him gasp when he saw the price and start stammering. 

Aaron picked out some tee shirts when he refused to, but he was actually pretty excited to pick out sweaters, much to Aaron’s delight. He really liked being balled up in thick woolen sweaters. Big enough to get lost in. There were so many lining the shelves that he found himself smiling and running his hands along them all. 

Soft wool, delicate cotton, pinks and blue and stripes and polka dots. Big and baggy, fitting and plush. He really liked them. “Uh, Aaron?” he asked. “Can I get this one?” He nervously held up a green wool sweater with two ducks flying across it, clutching it up to his chest. 

“Of course, sweetheart. That’s what we’re here for. Whatever you like.” 

“Are you sure? This is a lot, I mean, this is so much. You shouldn’t be spending so much on me...” 

“I want to,” Aaron said calmly. “If you’re okay with it, obv course. If you’re uncomfortable, that’s okay too.”

Spencer frowned. He wasn't _uncomfortable,_ just a little bit guilty feeling? “No, I’m not. I just— thank you.” 

“You’re welcome. Now come on, pick a few more and we can get out of here.” He smiled. 

Spencer liked the one with brown and tan patterns all over it, a Mickey mouse print, and a soft purple knitted sweater. He was really happy about all his new sweaters and almost wished that it was colder out so he could wear one right then. 

On the way out of the mall they passed a Starbucks and Spencer begged him for a latte even though he already had three cups that morning at the diner. Aaron reluctantly agreed, citing that this was only because it was a special day. Even when Spencer added additional sugar to it he didn't stop him. 

It didn’t come without an observation, though. “Have you ever had a cup of black coffee before?” 

Spencer wrinkled his nose. “Ew, no, of course not.” 

“Ew? You can’t truly say you like coffee if you haven’t had it black. That thing you’re drinking probably tastes more like a milkshake than coffee.”

He shrugged, took a sip. “Milkshakes are good.”

Aaron’s eyes crinkled up as he laughed. “Alright, you got me there. I do like milkshakes. But you get my point.” 

“Mmh. My mom used to make my coffee really sugary. S’probably why I like it so much.”

“She did? You went away to university at 12.” Aaron stared down at him. 

“Uh, yeah. So?”

“So, it’s unusual to give children caffeine.”

“Yeah but look how tall it made me.” He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. Aaron didn’t laugh, so Spencer cleared his throat. “Uh, well. My mom wasn’t, y’know, the most conventional. She… she wasn’t always in her right mind. She didn’t treat me like a kid so much as a friend.” 

“A friend?” 

Spencer looked down into the cup of coffee swirling hot between his fingers. “Well, I don’t know. She was my best friend. And she never punished me, and never really made me go to bed early, and she took me to fun places, pulled me out of school for trips, let me eat whatever I wanted for dinner. Made me sugary coffee. It wasn’t the same when I went over my friends houses, I remember that.” He looked up at Aaron. “Plus… she got sick. Then she did all sorts of weird, bad things. Or maybe she was sick all along, looking back at it, and I started to take care of her more than she tried to take care of me…”

Aaron only nodded; he was glad he didn’t say he was sorry. He hated telling people because they started to get all weird and apologetic. He didn’t want sympathy. 

“So yeah, sugary coffee is great. Never had it black.” 

“Thank you for telling me that,” he said in a soft voice, taking Spencer’s hand in his own and rubbing it. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go.” 

Aaron piled all the bags into the back of his SUV and Spencer started off on a tangent about a theory having to do with circles that he read in the Scientific American last month with a big smile on his face. The day was turning out even better than he’d hoped. 

After the mall, Aaron took him to the movie theatre to see a documentary about dark matter and for a moment it felt like... a date. Well, what Spencer imagined a date would feel like. There was a giddy feeling in the pit of his stomach that wouldn’t let up. All he wanted to do was reach over and hold hands with Aaron, but he was too shy. He could hardly even focus on the documentary despite how interesting it was. He saw it advertised last month and was planning on dragging Ethan to go see it, and here he was with someone who actually enjoyed it too and he couldn’t keep his eyes on the screen. The minutes seemed to slip away into nothingness as he sat there staring at that hand. God, he wanted to feel it on his own so badly. He wanted to feel the way it absolutely swallowed him up and gripping a little more than necessary.

Straight from the movie was lunch, and then back to campus so he could still get some studying in for the day. He really didn’t want to leave Aaron, but on the other hand he didn’t want to chance anything by arguing. They were having a great time and it would be a shame to ruin it by being a brat. Aaron actually smiled a few times during their outing and each time it sent butterflies fluttering all around his stomach, so much so that one time he thought he was going to throw up. Aaron was the decidedly most handsome man he’d ever seen and everything he did was amazing. 

When Aaron told him that he’d see him in two days, Spencer let out a little whimper and against his better judgement he leaned over across the middle console and pulled Aaron into a hug murmuring, “I’ll miss you” against his shoulder. 

Once Aaron hugged back he fell slack with relief, and grinned against the collar of his coat. He smelled so good, like minty aftershave, and he didn’t want to let go. “I’ll miss you too sweetheart,” he said. _Butterflies._ “Now be a good boy and get your things from the back.”

Spencer grabbed his bags and looked back at the SUV as he walked off, giving Aaron a big wave and dopey smile. The SUV stayed parked in the lot until Spencer entered his dorm, and he suspected it lingered a bit after that too. 

It was nice knowing someone cared about him getting how safe.

. . . 

Ethan was being a fucking asshole.

“You can’t just walk in here with five bags full of new clothes and refuse to tell me where you got them!” He was starting to shout. Spencer was being dodgey and finding it hard to lie because honestly where the fuck could he even have gotten them? He was broke as a joke. 

“I don’t have to tell you anything. Just don’t worry about it,” he murmured.

“I will worry about it! You’re my best friend, dude! But you’ve been acting so weird lately, and now where the hell did you even get all the money for this?”

“I just had some. Y’know, savings.” 

“That’s bull. You’re broke. I’ve seen your debit card get declined at McDonalds,” he frowned. 

Spencer rolled his eyes. “Fine. It was from playing poker the other day, okay? That’s why that asshat got so mad and socked me.”

“Yeah right, you guys were betting dollars, there was probably $20 max in that pile. Tell me the truth, Spencer, Jesus! Why is it such a big deal?” he said. “Unless you’re hiding something.” 

He dropped the bags to the floor and looked away. “I’m not hiding anything.”

“Oh yeah?” He got closer to Spencer, eyeing the bags on the floor, the anger written plain as day all over his face. “Then why the fuck do you keep changing your story?”

“I’m not! Ok? I meant both of them. I had some cash saved up. Plus the poker money. And this stuff was on sale. It wasn’t really that much. Besides, you’re the one that’s always saying I dress like a 60 year old man! Why can’t you just be happy for me instead of giving me the third degree?”

“I’ll give you the third degree when the shit you tell me smells like hot garbage. And you know what? What ever happened to getting mugged, huh? How do you have money if you supposedly got mugged a few weeks ago? Or were lying about that too?” he huffed, ran a hand down his face. “I fucking _knew_ you were lying about that, Spencer!”

“I wasn't lying!” he retorted, his voice getting high, nearly cracking. 

“Yeah, you were. You _are!_ Some best friend you are! I feel like I don’t even know you anymore.” There was a mix of concern and betrayal emanating from him and it almost made Spencer feel guilty. It definitely would when he went through this conversation over again in his head, but right now he was way too hopped up on adrenaline and fear to give a damn that Ethan was just looking out for him. 

“I…I _was_ mugged. I wasn’t lying then. O-or now!” he stuttered. “I just didn’t want to tell you… uh, my mom, she sent me some money. So.” 

Ethan’s voice softened. “Oh. Your mom?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, Spencer, shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t know, I—”

“No! it’s okay, really.” He picked the skin on his fingernail absently and winced at a sharp pain when the skin broke. 

Ethan kept _persisting._ “I wouldn’t have—”

“Don’t worry about it!” Spencer shushed him. Watching him trip over himself made him feel guilty. “Really. It’s okay. I’m okay. You couldn’t have known. And I should've just told you. It’s, uh… hard to talk about though, you know that.”

Ethan licked his lips. “I know. You never talk about it so… yeah.”

Spencer nodded, shrugged. Ethan patted him on the back before retreating into the bathroom, the only truly private room in the dorm. 

He threw the bags in a pile in his corner of the room and flopped down onto the bed, pulling out his cell. The green light blared into his eyes as he stared at it for a good ten minutes trying to pull up the courage to text Aaron— no, Professor Hotchner. 

**thnk u agn Sir. 2day was so fun. s.**

Chest thumping as he pressed send, he felt like a teenage girl afraid to text her crush after the first date. Which is kind of what this was, wasn’t it? Except he was a boy and his date was a man, 15 years his senior, his teacher, and liked to sexually dominate him. He bit his lip and tried not to smile.

**You’re welcome, Spence. Put away your clothes tonight. I won’t have a messy boy. H.**

Ugh, fuck, he was so comfy in bed. 

**ur boy? :) s.**

**Yes. Mine. Goodnight, sweetheart, do what you’re told. H.**

Fine. He sighed and went about putting away his clothes. It would’ve felt like chores if not for the erection rubbing up against his jeans with every step. Who knew doing a simple task could make him so aroused? Every time he thought about how good he was being and how he was doing exactly what he was ordered, he could feel his cock ache in his pants. 

When Ethan finally left the bathroom he locked himself inside and jacked off twice before finishing his clothes and passing out. He was hornier than he’d been in a long time. He didn’t even know he could come twice in such a short span. Everything lately was surprising him, even himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chap on 11/2 and its a longer than this one


	16. The Hotel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Chapter Spencer went clothes shopping with Aaron, then he got into a fight with Ethan.

_"Why do people marry versions of their controlling mothers? Or absent fathers?_

_To have a shot at righting old wrongs— Fixing things as an adult that hurt you as a child._

_Maybe it doesn't make sense at a surface level, but the subconscious marches to its own beat.”_

― Blake Crouch, Dark Matter

* * *

Sunday passed uneventfully without much contact from Professor Hotchner, save for a good morning text telling him what to wear, and a goodnight text telling him he was a good boy. 

On Monday Professor Hotchner called him out during class even though he was minding his own business, paying attention to the lecture. The class broke out in a series of ' _Oooohh_ 's and he flushed beet red. He didn’t dare talk back. Clearly public humiliation was on the agenda.

Professor Hotchner also told him to stay after class in front of everyone, which was new, since they usually did that discreetly. Staying after didn’t last long, though, like Spencer had hoped. Professor Hotchner slid a plastic card into his hand and told him he booked a _hotel_ room for them. Be there at 7pm, he said. Holy shit. Then he ushered him out of the room saying he’d receive a text later in the day. 

Waiting until seven was difficult. Waiting until seven was the worst kind of torture that Spencer could imagine, but also so incredibly exciting. His hands took on a life of their own, tapping on the desk, picking at the little thread in his shirt, touching nearly everything he saw. He didn’t pay attention in any of his lectures after that. He couldn’t; how could he?

A text came at 5:30 making his heart skip a beat. The phone all but slipped from his hands as he fumbled with it.

**JW Marriott on 14th W. Room 739. Take everything off and wait on the bed for me. Understood? H.**

**yes Sir s.**

Now he was _shaking._ Buzzing, humming, lit up like a christmas tree. What, 15 words from this man and suddenly he was reduced to a messy soup of misfiring nerves? He couldn’t stand it. Anything Professor Hotchner said to him made him itch with anticipation. With excitement. Arousal. 

And oh god, he was in for it tonight. His pants were tight just from reading the message. Would he really strip naked in a hotel for his teacher?

Every rational part of his brain screamed, _“NO”,_ but his dick was screaming, _“YES. GOD, YES. PLEASE.”_

For once he decided not to listen to his brain. 

At 6:30 he stood outside the Marriott after traversing the subway system. The subway in DC sucked. At the front counter the receptionist didn’t even bat an eye as he walked right past the front lobby. He went up to floor seven, room 739, and used his keycard to get inside. 

There's a certain smell that luxury hotel rooms have, and this one was saturated in it. A pleasant mix of linen, soap, and lavender. Sort of like a spa. The walls were a calming shade of beige, with a matching duvet and soft white bed sheets underneath. There was a large window at the back of the room which looked out to the city, draped in flowing white curtains. There was only one bed in the room.

The bathroom was gorgeous. Dark stone flooring against stark white countertops, a large shower with a rainfall showerhead overtop, and deep porcelain tub at the end of the room, situated underneath a large window. Wow. 

Spencer grinned to himself. He sort of liked being spoiled like Aa-Professor Hotchner was doing to him. He liked the food, the gifts, the hotel; all of it. He felt guilty, to an extent, but the thrill of it all far surpassed that. Finally someone was paying attention to him. He was half-way expecting a dingy, half lit motel room with a mirror positioned across from the bed. Not this. He wasn’t going to let this slip away.

There was a box sitting on the counter, and upon picking it up his face flushed red and he dropped it like a hot coal. He couldn’t possibly be expecting to- he’d never- god, how embarrassing. How embarrassing that Professor Hotchner was thinking about him in such practical terms. He supposed he was going to figure out how to douche. 

With thirty minutes to spare, he stripped down to nothing, folded his clothes up nice on the dresser, and stepped into the shower with the box in hand and started to wash away the subway grime. The water was hot; he turned it up near scalding, and it soothed all of his broken nerves. 

When he stepped out, he instinctively reached out for his clothes again, but he wasn’t allowed to put them on. Instead he toweled off, rubbed his hair dry, tossed the box in the trash bin, and sat on the bed like he was told. 

What he didn’t notice before were the three things sitting innocently on the bedside table. Two he would instantly guess what they were for, but the third? He would have no clue. 

The buzzer on the door rang out as someone keyed into the room. Was it Professor Hotchner? It had to be. Otherwise someone would find him buttnaked on the bed next to—

“Good boy,” he hummed. That beautifully seductive voice. Thick and sweet, like maple syrup.

“T-Thank you, Sir.” 

“Just like I told you.” The corner of his mouth upturned. He got closer to Spencer, reaching out and running his hand along his bare chest. “Get up on your knees.” 

Spencer found himself quick to comply, rising up on the bed to his shaking knees, looking over to Professor Hotchner nervously. 

“How do you address me?”

“Sir.” 

“Hands behind your back,” he said. “Don’t slouch; straighten you back. Keep your chin down.” 

“Yes, Sir.” Spencer tried his hardest to position himself just right but it was hard on the soft surface of the bed. He wobbled, but only a little bit. 

“You’ve been such a good boy lately, Spencer. Don’t you think so?” He didn’t pause for an answer. “I’ve been so gentle with you, but that’s going to change soon, sweetheart. We need to start training you. You want to be trained, don't you? You want to be a good boy for me?”

“Yes, Sir. I do. I wanna be a good boy for you,” he all but whined. His head was spinning, feeling as though he might topple over from excitement. Everything felt so big; larger than life. The hotel room, the scandal, the vulnerability. Spencer idly thought it seemed like something out of a waiting room magazine, the kind with candid photos of married actors running around with other married actors, not the kind of thing that happened to geeky guys like him who never did more than kick up a little bit of drama in the student center and pass all his classes in a noteworthy fashion. 

What he was doing with his Professor- it was magazine big. 

“The first thing you’re going to learn, Spencer, is the safe word. Have you heard of them before?”

Spencer filed through his memories on the websites he looked up and stopped on a certain snapshot about safe words, taking a short second to member it. “Yes, Sir. It’s for when you want to stop. A special word used in cases where ‘no’ might be part of play.”

“Exactly. Because I’m not going to… keep going anymore. I want you to enjoy it too. You like it, don’t you?” 

Spencer nodded his head, letting out a bashful smile. He _loved_ it. But he didn’t want to admit it so freely. 

Professor Hotchner looked at him sternly. “If you want me to stop, the safe word is red. Say it back to me.”

“Um, the safe word is red, Sir.” 

“That means I’ll stop and we can cuddle, or I can give you space, whatever you need. It’s all up to you. The second word is yellow. That means you’re getting uncomfortable but you don’t want to stop. It’s a traffic light system. Green means everything is OK.”

Spencer nodded. “Yes, Sir. Yellow is uncomfortable but don’t stop, green is OK,” he parroted. 

Professor Hotchner smirked. Spencer was an easy study, already obeying standing orders without being asked. “Good boy. Don’t be afraid to say them today. I want you to like what we do.

Spencer nodded again, blushing, his hands fiddling with each other behind his back. At the mention of a _good boy_ his cock gave an interested twitch and he turned, embarrassed.

“Mh, look at you, so eager.” Professor Hotchner smirked, eyes staring straight down at Spencer’s hardening cock. “Do you want to be touched?”

Spencer nodded so fast it put a crick in his neck. He let out an incoherent breathy whine and bucked his hips forward. 

“Not yet. Get on your hands and knees,” he said, low and raspy.

Spencer obeyed; his heavy cock swung in between his legs, red, aching, and untouched. The sound of his voice alone had brought him to half mast, and his gaze sent him full sail. If only he would get a little bit closer he could smell that intoxicating scent…

“Face to the bed. Put your arms behind your back.” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

“That’s it, good boy. Legs apart. Ass nice and high for me, sweetheart.” 

Spencer let out a whimper as he spread his thighs, feeling truly vulnerable. Professor Hotchner was looking his asshole right in the eye and he could only lay there and think about how much he wanted to ask to be fucked. He was aching for something, anything, enough that he could feel it in his bones.

Professor Hotchner still didn’t touch him, though. He was over at the bedside table and he heard a _pop_ that sent his pavlovian response into overdrive. Suddenly he couldn’t sit still, squirming like a bug, unable to keep his hands still behind his back, his toes from clenching into the sheets, or his face from turning side to side. His body was heating up, and his cock was twitching with need. Chanting over and over in his head _touch me, touch me, touch me!_

Then there was that pressure up against his hole and he didn't care how cold the lube was on his skin that was still hot from the scalding shower. “Ohhhh, god—”

“Moan for me, Spencer,” he growled. “Let's hear that pretty voice of yours.” He pressed the pad of his thumb against Spencer’s asshole and massaged it in small circles. 

“Ohh, _mmmhhh— ah,_ oh, please, Sir.”

“What is it you want, slut?”

“Want you— please, oh, please— more.”

“Mmh, you want it up the ass, Spence? You want to feel my fingers inside you, filling you up?”

“Yes. Yes, god. Yes.”

“Beg for it.” 

“P-Please, Sir—” he said breathlessly. “I need it, I need you, fuck, please, please, pleaseee _more!”_

Professor Hotchner stilled his squirming by placing his hand on his ass cheek and with the other, pressing his thumb deep inside of him. Spencer let out a throaty moan and buried his face in sheets, bucking his hips, and grinding back against it. 

“Love how eager you are, Spencer. Such a slutty boy.” 

Spencer had never thought of himself as a slut before, but his head was filled with dirty thoughts and he was taking it up the ass, so maybe he _was_ a bit of a slut. It made his chest feel all tight and hot thinking about it. He was _slutty._ Taking fingers up the ass. Having kinky sex with his Professor. 

_Slut._

Professor Hotchner plunged in with two fingers and he groaned again. His hands were gripped tightly in the sheets. His ass was on fire with that intoxicating stretch, toeing the line between pleasure and pain. Hotch scissored his fingers and stretched him out nice and wide. 

“Oh fuck, Sir, please— _nnnhhhgg——”_

That’s right little slut, you’re going to take it all. God, you love it, don’t you? Look at you squirm.” He worked his fingers in and out, going deep, pressing his fingertips along the sides of his hole. The lube dripped down his crack, falling onto the duvet. He smacked his asscheek without warning and Spencer cried out, high pitched and feral. His thighs were quivering. “You want to be touched, sweetheart? Think you deserve it?” 

“Y-Yes, Sir! Please, Sir, fuck— I need it, I do— I’ve been so good—”

“Mh-mmh,” He shook his head, not that Spencer could see from his position. “You deserve what I say you deserve. You get what I decide to give you, and you thank me for it.”

Spence whimpered and cock leaked a bead precum at coarseness of the words; he never knew how badly he wanted to be controlled. He never knew how much he wanted someone to tell him what he wanted. “Yes, Sir, _uunnnhh_ — I— I’ll take whatever you give me, I deserve w-whatever you say, oh god— I’m yours, _fuck_.”

“That’s right, little slut,” he growled, taking a hold of his hair and yanking his head up, extending his neck, and making him gasp desperately for air. “You’re _mine_. Don’t you ever forget that. _Mine._ ”

“No, Sir, I-I won’t.” 

Professor Hotchner reached down between Spencer’s shaking thighs and grabbed a hold of his cock. His hand was coated slick with lube, and he started rubbing wet along his length with a tight fist. “Oooohhh-!” 

Overwhelmed from all the sensations coming at him, from the fingers pumping steadily into his ass, to the tight grip squeezing his cock, he could hardly think straight. Everything in the room was spinning and nothing would stop. The only things he could get out of his mouth were broken pleas and moans. His body was taut with pent up pleasure. His orgasm was building with every passing second, every fuck, every stroke. The coil inside him was wound so tight that he felt his stomach twist up in a feeling that almost resembled agony, if not for the burning desire underneath it all. 

“S-Sir—I ooh, fuuu- ah—” he stuttered. “Wan-wanna—”

“What do you want to do, my little slut?” He hummed. He kept his brutal pace steady and strong. “Tell me.” 

“Wanna—wanna—”

“Mmh? Don’t know what you want, baby.”

“Please! Sir, ooohhhhh— wanna cum. Please—”

“Mmh, you needy little thing. Think you deserve to cum?”

“”Yes— _no!_ I deserve it if you say so, Sir, please—”

“Not yet, angel,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, coldness seeping into his words. “Don’t you even _think_ about cumming, Spencer.” 

“B-But, Sir!”

Professot Hotchner slapped his ass with a loud _clap_. “Don’t back talk me unless you want to be punished.”

“No— oh god, please, I’m sorry— I have to cum, I need to— fuck, Sir—!” He trembled with shaking thighs. 

“No, Spencer. Restrain yourself,” he said, still stroking and fingering relentlessly. 

“C-Can’t— uunnnh. Please— let me, Sir, need it, need it so bad— Can’t stop—”

Professor tightened his grip on his hip enough to bruise. Tomorrow it would be pretty red and purple hues against milky whire skin. “Don’t you dare cum.”

“I— fuck—! Sir, Fuck ooh—” he moaned, his tension snapping. He _couldn’t_ hold back a second longer. His orgasm rushed out of him, sending chills down his body, an electric wave of euphoria flowing through him. Frenzied, wired and lawless; every bit of self restraint he had seeped out. His cock gushed cum all over Professor Hotchner’s fingers and his cheeks burned with shame. “I’m so sorry—! oh god, oh fuck, Professor—”

Within seconds he was pushed down onto the mattress, his belly hitting the bed hard with the feeling of cum smearing against him. “You greedy little whore,” Came that dark voice close up behind his ear. “Think you can cum when you’re implicitly told otherwise? You think this is about your pleasure? I’m going to show you exactly what it means to disobey me, Spencer. You’re going to be begging me not to let you cum.” 

“I’m s-so sorry—” he whimpered. “Forgive me, please, I tried—” 

“Not hard enough,” Professor Hotchner said in a steely cold voice. 

A soft _pop_ sounded out behind him and he wanted to turn around and look but he was in enough trouble as it was. Smartly, he decided to wait for what was going to come next, but nothing happened. 

Again his voice came out cold above him, “Tell me you color.”

Spencer wasn’t sure exactly how much he could handle, but this was definitely okay so far. As long as Professor Hotchner wasn’t mad enough at him to stop, then he was _okay._ He wouldn’t be able to take it if his Dom didn’t want to continue because he was bad; that would be worse than a hundred lashes. 

“Green,” he whimpered. 

“What do you think, does a little slut like you deserve “Cockslut” or “Whore” written on him? 

“I-I— I don’t know, Sir. Whatever you think is best.”

“Cute, now he wants to listen,” he said, dripping in sarcasm. Professor Hotchner was borderline scary when he was in a dominant mood. 

He pressed down on the small of Spencer’s back and worked the marker against his skin, scratching out “WHORE” in big black letters right above his ass. He gripped Spencer’s hips and turned him around on his back as he gasped and wrote “COCKSLUT” boldly on his chest, right in between the nipples. 

Spencer was looking up at him with big doe eyes, the submission practically gushing out of him. He was panting, trying to catch his breath, with sweat misting his forehead, cum and marker littering his chest, making him look positively sinful. Those big innocent amber eyes against everything else so fucked out and raw was a beautiful contrast. 

He saw a bright _flash_ in front of his eyes then blinked a few times; Professor Hotchner snapped a photograph of him of his cellphone— Was he allowed to do that?

“You have no idea how gorgeous you are. So pretty,” he cooed. “If only you weren’t such a greedy little boy, I could have fucked you good, sweetheart, cuddled you nice, and let you call me Daddy.” 

Spencer whined, _loudly._ He _really_ wanted Professor Hotchner to let him call him Daddy. His big, strong Daddy there to protect him and cuddle and fuck him slow.

“But you were a bad boy, Spence, _you_ made that decision. You don’t listen. Now jack yourself off.”

“I—” Was jacking off supposed to be a punishment? That sounded amazing. “Yes, Sir!”

He wrapped his hand around his cock and started pumping. Just looking down at his cock he could see the black sharpie marking him causing shame to burn hot inside his chest, but it only made him harder. 

He thought about _Aaron_ — the one who brought him out shopping, to the movies, drove him in his car— the way he listened to him, made him laugh, _fuck_ , that dark hair, those brown eyes, the way his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The chest hair poking out from under his collar, the way his pants fit him so perfectly, that way his stubble felt against his face when he kissed him. And _Professor hotchner,_ with that deep voice telling him what to do, and when, and where, and _fuck,_ just taking control and giving him freedom in the most backwards sort of way. The way he called him his slut. _His._ Oh, god, _His._

“Oh, fuck, Sir,” he moaned brokenly. “I need you. I need you so bad.” 

“I know, baby. I’ve got you. Keep stroking. Cum for me. Cum for your Dom,” he rasped. 

“Yes, Sir, yes, _oh._ ” He spilled out again, his orgasm hitting and sending him reeling. His eyes rolled back in his head and his hips jerked up in tiny little spasms. 

“Again.”

“W-what?”

“ _Again,_ whore.”

“I can’t! I just did,” Spencer sputtered out in confusion. He very rarely came more than one or twice, sometimes three times if he was really horny, but it didn’t happen often. 

“And now you’ll do it again. Go.”

With a trembling hand he grasped his sore cock. “Y-Yes, Sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! And thanks for all the comments and support and kudos and all that good stuff, love you guys. Next update on 11/6~
> 
> [Cueonego drew another amazing picture asdfghjkl](https://goobzoop.tumblr.com/post/634056098173927424/carltonlassie-reid-is-impossible-to-draw-but-like) There's a SFW and a [NSFW](https://carltonlassie.tumblr.com/post/633822303707348992/reid-is-impossible-to-draw-but-like-the-latest) version


	17. Cum, Cum, Cum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chap Spencer did a no-no and came when Prof Hotchner told him not to. Bad boy.

_"Maybe she couldn’t know who she was today._

_Maybe it was enough to know that she was no longer who she was before._

― Orson Scott Card, Speaker for the Dead

* * *

_“Again.”_

_“W-what?”_

_“Again, whore.”_

_“I can’t! I just did.” Spencer sputtered out in confusion. He very rarely came more than one or twice, sometimes three times if he was really horny, but it didn’t happen often._

_“And now you’ll do it again. Go.”  
_

“I—”

“Don’t be a bad boy, Spence. Your next punishment will make this one seem like a cakewalk.” 

“Y-Yes, Sir…” He grabbed his dick again, still hard yet over sensitive and screaming at him. He closed his eyes, please, fuck, just let him get through this. He stroked again, faster, more desperate, with images of Professor Hotchner looking down at him, towering over him, his fat cock dangling in front of him, demanding to be sucked. He rubbed faster, harder. The feeling of his hand grabbing his hair, pulling hard. The sting of a slap coming down across his face. The cold hard look in his eyes as he called him— _oh, fuck!_ He spilled out again, hot and sticky, much less than last time. 

“Good boy,” he rasped. 

“Please— Sir, I can’t! No more, please—”

Spencer let out a whiny moan as Professor Hotchner calmly unbuttoned his dress shirt then shrugged it off along with his suit jacket. If there were ever something that would give Spencer a stroke it’d be this Godly looking man getting naked in front of him; he pulled his white undershirt up over his head showing thick hair littering his chest. Spencer’s heart fluttered. He was so dark and masculine and _fuck_ , so incredibly sexy, he never found anyone more attractive in his life.

Professor Hotchner grabbed his thighs and dragged him to the edge of the bed, hooking his legs around his waist and leaning down overtop of him. Spencer sunk into the bed like a slab of butter on a hot pancake. He was encompassed. Warmth emanated from his body overtop and heated him up. He felt so secure and safe. He felt perfect.

His cock was verging on painful, but still twitched needily when he felt that big thick cock grind down on him from beneath those black slacks. Kisses were pressed up his neck and along his chin, hot and wet. The feeling of five o’clock shadow scratched into his skin and he relished the burn, never realizing just how much he craved the touch of a man. If he learned anything at all from the past month, it was that he was one hundred percent, without a doubt in his mind, never-look-back, _gay_. And he _loved_ it. 

His heart was thumping wildly in his chest again. Logically he knew how arousal worked, but he couldn’t comprehend how Professor Hotchner could work him up so easily. Panting, sweating, squirming underneath him; he had his hands gripped tightly on his waist and he was holding him so still and tight as he grinded into him. Spencer’s hands wrapped around Professor Hotchner’s biceps, hard and defined from so many years of field work, and he moaned desperately into the room. 

“That’s it, my slutty boy,” he rasped down near his collar bone where he was biting into him. “You love it, don’t you?”

“Y-yes, Sir. Love it s-so much.”

He grabbed Spencer’s wrists in one hand and pinned them up over his head, and with the other he grabbed a hold of his achey, throbbing cock, still slick with lube and cum. 

“Ooh—!” Spencer cried out. He bucked his hips, wiggled under his grasp; he couldn’t move. He was completely under Professor Hotchner’s control yet again. 

Spencer felt like his dick was going to explode. So did his mind. It was like swimming in a pool of electricity, completely engulfed in the voltaic buzz that was his somatic nervous system. He could only cry out, whimper, _beg_. He could only take what Professor Hotchner gave him. 

He was pumping his cock languidly. Brushing up against the tip, moving his hand all the way down and palming at the balls. Spencer let out hot and heavy breaths. He could feel his gears turning again, winding up, coiling tighter and tighter. Breaths turned into moans which turned into whimpers, which turned into whines. Professor Hotchner chuckled above him. He was such a needy boy; he hated how fast he would unravel, how he was powerless to stop it. 

It was embarrassing that having his arms pinned up would make him lose all sense of self restraint— It was embarrassing how he would break underneath a man who wasn’t even fully undressed. He hadn’t even been fucked yet and there he was about to spill his load for a fourth painstaking time. 

“S-Sir— please, no—” he said breathless.

“What’s a matter, sweetheart, don’t want to cum? You love cummming, baby boy, don’t you? You love cumming even when you’re not supposed to, so why don’t you cum then?” he growled. 

“S-sir…” he sobbed, his cock throbbing. “P-please”

Professor Hotchner sped up his stroking as Spencer moaned, until he was babbling incoherently and finally came all over his stomach right on top of the dark black COCKSLUT.

“Good boy,” he purred. “I think you deserve a break.” 

Spencer let his head fall back in relief. Thank God he was giving him time to rest because he didn’t think he could go again so fast. His cock was on fire and so incredibly sensitive that he didn’t want to even look at it. “Thank you, Sir.”

Professor Hotchner got off from overtop Spencer and sat down on the side of the bed, eyeing him up. Spencer had been feeling so much apprehension and excitement about today ever since he got the keycard, but nothing could have prepared him for how satisfying it was to be dominated. All the worries and the pressures that he felt in his day to day life were left at the door. Lying in bed with cum smeared all over him and being stared at like he was a piece of meat, he didn’t feel like a freak genius. He was just Spencer, the slutty boy who did what he was told.

“Thank you, Sir,” Spencer said, dazed. He was looking up at Professor Hotchner’s face, who was looking at him, too, but in a vacant sort of way like his thoughts were millions of miles away. 

Then he broke out into a grin at Spencer's eager thanks. 

“Mmh, what a good boy, so thankful for what he gets. You’re such a natural submissive.”

Spencer blushed and tried to hide his face in the covers but Professor Hotchner didn’t let him. “Don’t hide your face from me, Spence. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Be bashful; it’s cute. It suits you. You don’t have to hide anything around me.”

That only made Spencer blush harder and twitch from the desire to hide. He had to do what Professor Hotchner said, though, be brave enough to be openly embarrassed. It was just, well, _embarrassing_. 

“Professor?”

“Mmh, yes, Spence?” he said, then paused. “You can call me Hotch. We’re not in class right now.”  
Spencer stalled for a second. Another name. Not quite _Aaron_ , but it was something. It was Hotch. 

“Hotch…” he hummed. 

_Hotch_ grinned. “When you’re not calling me Sir, or course. It’s okay, though, I told you we were taking a quick break. But don’t you forget your place, sweetheart.”

Spencer didn’t seem to hear that. He was looking far away. “Did you know Hotch means to wiggle or fidget? It first appeared in Scotland in the 15th century, though now its meaning has transitioned more into ‘to swarm’. Y’know, like bees?”

“Is that so?”

“Mmhm. Before that it most likely originated from middle French Hocher, which means to shake, and before that, in old French Hochier meant to jostle or twitch.”

“Swarm, huh?” he smiled.

Spencer nodded. 

“Ironic. I’m allergic to bees.” 

Spencer giggled. 

“What, you think that’s funny, baby boy?” 

“No, Sir!” he pouted. “I don’t, I swear. It’s just, uh… you’re not anything like your name at except for the fact that it’s predominantly masculine. I can’t imagine you wiggling, or fidgeting, or jostling, or twitching.” 

Hotch winked, and ruffled Spencer's hair. “That’s what I have you for, sweetheart.” He leaned in and whispered hot against his ear, “You look so good when I get you wiggling underneath me.” 

Spencer giggled, embarrassed again. 

He sat back again. “What were you going to ask me?”

“Oh— right.” He blushed. “Um, can I take a shower? Or… do I have to stay like this, Sir?”

“As much as I love seeing you covered in my cum, you may. Just don’t scrub off the Sharpie.” 

Spencer started getting up but Hotch was up on his feet before him, and scooped him up into his arms like a big lanky princess. Spencer groaned because he knew he must look ridiculous but being in Hotch’s arms was downright amazing, not that he would admit it. 

“Sir! Put me down!”

“Nope.” He carried Spencer into the bathroom, put him down on the tiles, and turned the shower on hot for him. “Go on, Spence.” He slapped his ass and Spencer hopped up, grabbing at it. 

“Ah!” he giggled. 

“Enjoy your shower because we’re going to finish what you started when you’re done.”

. . .

Spencer enjoyed the shower. He enjoyed going back into the bedroom and getting absolutely wrecked, too.

Hotch made him get back up on the bed, hands and knees again, while he fucked him relentlessly, forcing him to cum again and again. The buildup of pleasure that filled him spilled out, but he came so many times that nothing even came out. An hour later, Hotch fucked him up against the bathroom counter, but that time Hotch said he didn’t have to cum if he didn’t want to. Spencer had finally learned his lesson and apologized for cumming when he was told not to. Next time, he would definitely try a _lot_ harder to control himself. His dick felt like a jellyfish. A bruised up jellyfish that accidently stung itself. Multiple times. Ow.

By the time that sun set, the hazy yellow glow that filled the room dissipated and left behind a cool darkness. Spencer was lying on the bed, still naked, watching Hotch scroll through his blackberry. It was a really nice phone with a full keyboard and naked pictures of him saved in the memory.

Hotch was letting him snuggle up close. He was always so sweet after they had sex. Spencer’s head was rested against his chest, rising and falling with his steady breathing. His arm was wrapped around Spencer’s back and holding him tight. Spencer was really happy. He wanted to close his eyes and melt into Hotch and stay there forever, just like that.

Nothing could bother him. Nothing mattered. Schoolwork was null. Bullies were null. The fact that Ethan was going to have a conniption wondering where he spent the night was null. Nothing mattered but Hotch’s warm body underneath him.

“How are you feeling sweetheart?” Hotch kissed him on the top of his head in his mess of curls. 

“M’okay, Sir. Perfect, actually.”

“You sure, baby?” he whispered. “You’d tell me if anything was bothering you? Especially about everything that happened today?”

Spencer nodded with a smile. He was genuinely happy. There was just one little thing. “Yeah, I promise. It’s just…”

“Just what, Spence?”

“Just… I’m really sorry… about what I did today. I didn’t mean to, I _swear_. I just- I-” he whimpered. “I didn’t mean to be bad, really, I’m so _sorry_.”

“Shhh. It’s okay,” he cooed. His arm wrapped tighter around him. “That’s what this is all about. Learning. Making mistakes, learning from them, and not repeating them in the future. I don’t expect you to be perfect right off the bat.”

“I know, but I just wanted to be good for you and I wasn’t! I couldn’t stop myself from cumming. I just… Im so sorry.” He nuzzled his face into Hotch’s chest and frowned. “I’m such a _whore_.”

Hotch let out a quiet sigh. “Oh, Spence. You are a little whore. My whore. Don’t think being a whore is a bad thing; you like taking my cock, don't you?”

Spencer nodded into his chest. 

“Hey, look up at me.” Hotch shifted a bit under him. “Don’t think that me calling you these names means that you’re not still respectable and brilliant.” 

Spencer blinked his eyes. “Really?”

“Yes, Spencer, of course. It’s just bedroom talk. It’s the sort of talk you use when you’re playing in a scene. I’d never call you a whore in a normal conversation. Only while we’re dirty talking.”

“So you don't think I'm a whore for cumming when you said not to? Are you mad? Please don’t be mad at me…”

“No, and I’m not mad. It’s all a part of your training. You made a mistake. You had your punishment. It’s done. If you continue with the behaviour then I’ll be mad. But only time will tell.”

“I won’t. I’m not going to, I promise.” 

“Good.”

“But I’m still really sorry.”

Hotch laughed and pulled him up so that they were face to face, Spencer laying half on top of him. “Spencer, no more apologizing about that. I’ve forgiven you. Got it?” He kissed him sweetly, warm and dry. 

“Yes Sir. Sorry, Sir.” He blushed, licking his lips. 

“Good boy.” Hotch looked at his phone, shuffled out from under him, and slid off the bed. Spencer was watching him curiously as he pulled on a pair of pants and his—

“What are you doing?” Spencer asked. “Where are you going?” He shot up on the bed, feeling sort of panicked. “Are you leaving, Sir? You can’t leave!”

He was panicking. 

Hotch turned around to see Spencer making grabby hands at him with a look of terror in his eyes. He vastly underestimated how clingy Spencer would get after a session.

“Don't… go,” he begged. Tears swelled at his eyes and fell down his cheeks. He felt desperate, like Hotch was going to leave him and never come back and he’d be stuck in the hotel room forever in a cold bed, alone, naked, and afraid. “Sir?”

“Oh, baby. I’m sorry. No, I’ll stay.” Hotch shook his head, going back to him and pulling him into a hug. He pressed him into the crook of his neck with his hand against the back of his head holding him tight. “M’sorry, sweetheart, I forgot how it can be after punishments. It’s… been a while. I’m here. Daddy’s here.” 

“Daddy?” Spencer leaned back and shot him a dazzling smile. 

Hotch blushed and laughed. He stripped down to his boxers again. “I’ll stay till the morning, okay? I’ll be with you all night, I’m not going anywhere. We can cuddle and kiss and whatever you want, baby boy.”

“Really?” His eyelashes fluttered. He was drowning in affection, it was like a roller coaster. “Thank you, Sir! Thankyou, thankyou, thankyou!”

“Come on, get under the covers. Daddy's going to spoon you and play with your hair.” 

“Mmm.” Spencer sighed happily and laid down next to his Daddy, pressed up close, feeling like he was wrapped up in a warm cocoon of happiness. Everything was perfect, and nothing was bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up dood is 11/11


	18. Trivia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter Spencer was at a hotel with Prof Hotch and Spencer got a lil bit of aftercare after he freaked that Hotch was leaving him all alone after he punish-fucked him nice and good.

_"I’ve built a wall around me, never letting anybody inside_

_and trying not to venture outside myself”_

― Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

* * *

The next few weeks flew by. Ethan was giving him space. That was okay. His classes were stimulating. He was getting fucked on the regular. He felt happy and wanted. Everything was great. 

Then JJ cornered him after class and practically forced him into agreeing to go out with her, Emily, and Penny on Friday. That was _not_ great. The thing was, he liked JJ, sure, but going out was not his cup of tea. He wanted to stay in his dorm and read, or go to a hotel and get railed. Not gossip with his sort-of girl friends. 

When he asked Professor Hotchner if he could go out, because he was a good boy and good boys asked permission first, he was strangely ecstatic for him. For weeks he was telling Spencer that he needed to work on his interpersonal skills, and said this was the perfect opportunity. Spencer didn’t think he needed to do that, not really, so he never tried. Except now he was going to. It would make his friends happy, and his Dom, so fine. He’d go out on Friday. 

Spencer checked in with Professor Hotchner when he was getting ready that night so he could pick out his outfit. They fell into a nice routine where Spencer would get a text from him every morning specifying how he wanted him to dress, whether it was a full outfit or just a particular shirt or shoes. Everyday was different. One day he made him come to class without any underwear. It all depended on Professor Hotchner’s mood, Spencer thought. The varying degrees of sadism always correlated to how sexual Professor Hotchner got with him. The more sadistic, the more sexual. 

Today, though, Spencer texted him asking for instructions and what he got back was his tightest pair of black jeans, his light blue button up, dark blue vest, but no tie, and sleeves rolled up. He’d rather wear a sweater and baggy pants, but it wasn’t really his call anymore. And he probably did look better in what Professor Hotchner picked out. He was more adept in fashion than he would ever be. 

Looking in the mirror, too, Spencer could appreciate that okay… he looked _alright_. Nothing too crazy, not exactly a model, but not a pile of garbage either. Plus Professor Hotchner gave him permission to wear his purple striped scarf which always made him happy as it reminded him of the 4th Doctor. He didn't tell Professor Hotchner that, though, in case he thought it was too immature and said he couldn't wear it. Omitting facts wasn’t exactly _lying,_ and it wasn’t hurting anyone. 

Professor Hotchner said to have his phone with him at all times so he tucked it into his back pocket and headed for the bus station where he was meeting JJ and the rest of them. They were already huddled up, looking cold, and waving frantically at him as he came near. He would never get used to someone being genuinely pleased to see him. 

“Uh, hey.” Spencer gave them a half smile. 

“Spence!” Penny squealed, running up and hugging him. “I can’t believe you came! I’m so happy! Boy genius, I missed you so much! You never hang out with me! Hang out with me moreeeee!” 

“See? He showed up! I told you he’d come. Spencer’s true to his word. Right Spence?” JJ said. “Now you owe me five dollars. So fork it over, Prentiss.” 

Emily rolled her eyes and dug around in her shoulder bag. “Spencer, I’m really glad you’re here, but shit, I’m gonna go broke. JJ is too good with these bets lately.”

“Hi, Penny,” he said into the fur of her jacket hood that was squished into his face. “Yeah, uh, we will.”

“You promise?!” Penny shook him side to side. 

“We’re goona hit up trivia night at the Red Door, that cool with you, Spence?” Emily asked.

“Um, sure.” Actually that sounded not too bad at all. 

“Come on, guys, the bus just pulled up,” JJ said, eyeing Penny and laughing. “Pen! Let him go!” 

“Fine!” she huffed. “But don’t think I’m done with you, Mr.”

Spencer blushed then ducked his head. He pulled out his cell and typed out a message to Professor Hotchner, knowing that he’d be expecting updates. 

**Miss you, Sir. Leaving now. s.**

His Nokia buzzed almost immediately in his pocket and he grinned, his heart swelling up, thinking about Professor Hotchner right next to his phone waiting to hear from _him._

**Have a good time, sweetheart. Thinking of you. No drinking. H.**

**yes, Sir. s.**

Well, okay. There went his whole plan for the night. Alcohol helped loosen him up. He really wanted to drink- it made talking easier. Well, maybe not talking. He could do plenty of that, but it did lower his anxiety down to a tolerable amount and stop him from overthinking everything he said after the fact. His fingers twitched at the little keyboard. Maybe Professor Hotchner would let him if he explained himself? Clearly he wasn’t an alcoholic or anything. At the risk of getting punished, and please don’t let it be a spanking, he typed out another message and sent it to his Professor. 

**r u sure no drinking, Sir? Bc I can do just 1 or 2. I wnt get drunk. Promise. s.**

**The answer is no, Spencer. H.**

That wasn’t _fair._

**why? Sir. s.**

**Because I said so. Now pay attention to your friends and stop whining like a child. H.**

**yes, Sir. i’m sorry, Sir. s.**

Fine! He wasn’t whining. He was just _asking._ There was a difference. He has a right to know.

**but shld I rlly have to blindly follw orders? y cnt u jst expln? s.**

**You’d better quit while you’re ahead, Spencer. No more talking back. I’ve had enough of this. One more time and you’ll be getting the paddle. You don’t want to find out what that feels like, do you? H.**

**no! I dnt. Obv. I was jst askng! It hlps me calm dwn cos I hate socializing. s.**

**Okay. 10 strikes. H.**

**no! wait. pls? I’m srry, Sir. s.**

**Go have fun, Spencer. H.**

“Who’ya texting?” Penny peeped over at his phone in his lap. “Ooh. ‘H’. Who’s H?”

“Nobody!” Spencer gasped, shoving his cell in his pocket. 

“Since when do you have a phone, Spence?” Emily looked at him funny. “Ethan always says he can’t text you cause you’re a technological cave man or something like that.”

“Your only flaw…” Penny sighed, pretending to be crestfallen. She loved computers. _Breathed_ computers. 

“Um, since recently. I don’t know.” Spencer shrugged. The bus hit a bump and he slid a bit in his seat. “He doesn’t know I have it yet, I guess, I never mentioned it.”

“Really? That’s weird,” Emily said. 

“Is it? I don’t know.” 

JJ nodded. “Yeah, totally is. I tell my best friend everything.” 

“It’s true.” Emily nodded. “She does.” 

Penny bumped him on the shoulder. “I tell my bff everything, too, she’s from Korea and we talk every single day on AIM. She knows everything. Every. Thing.” 

“Oh, Seo Hyun Jin?” Spencer asked automatically. Penny told him three times over the past year. 

“Oh my god, you remember!” She flashed him a huge smile, bouncing in her seat with excitement. Penny was like a fifth grader trapped inside of the body of a college kid who also accidentally fell into a vat of glitter glue.

“Yeah, I remember _everything._ It’s what I do.” 

“Still, though, that’s really cool. This is why we’re friends.” 

“And why we’re gonna smash trivia tonight!” Emily grinned. 

The bus sputtered and came to a halt at the end of fifth avenue and everyone filed off. It was mostly college students looking to get twisted and shift workers going home for the day. Spencer wished he were going home like them. The bus pulled away as did his last chance for backing out. 

The bar was loud. Loud, dark, and sticky. His shoe stuck to the bar floor the second he walked it and made a _squick-e, squick-e_ sound with every step. Emily pulled them through a tangle of rowdy people into the trivia section where all the tables were lined with little index cards. 

“Let’s get some shots!” Penny, of course, was bounding towards the bar before even sitting down. 

“So, Spence, got any plans for winter break? Semester’s almost over.” Emily said, and JJ turned her attention over to him. “JJs leaving like always, _ugh,_ with Will.” Emily looked over at JJ. “Where are you guys going, back to yours, or down to New Orleans again?

“We're gonna stay with my parents this time.”

Emily looked at Spencer who was wringing his hands in his lap. “So? Plans?”

“Mh, I don’t know. Probably staying. I never go home. I’ll probably take a winter course or write a paper or something.”

Emily frowned. “Booo! No, you should totally hang out with me over break since I’m not leaving either. It’ll be fun, I guarantee it.”

“Uh.” _Professor Hotchner would want you to say yes. He’d be proud._ “I guess. Maybe... That’d be alright.”

“Wait, really?” Her face lit up. “Spence, that’d be so cool!” 

Spencer forced a smile. 

She shoved a cell at him. “Can I have your phone number then?”

“Uhh…” he stalled. He’d have to ask. He didn’t know whether or not Professor Hotchner wanted him to text other people. He gave him the phone after all, he should be aware of how he’s using it. 

Or maybe he should just be aware in general. It was too risky not to ask permission, not after the fact that he already earned 10 strikes for bad behavior already. 

Penny came back with shots and set them on the table, sloshing them, spilling some of the liquid on the table. So much for keeping it clean. It’d be sticky _all night_ now. He shuddered at the thought.

Emily was still looking at him expectantly. 

“Uh, hold on.” He shot a text to Professor Hotchner hoping he’d answer quickly. He usually did. 

**Emily wnts my cell #. Am I allwd 2 give it 2 her? s.**

**Yes. But no texting. H.**

“Uhhh… okay.” He stuttered. “But I can’t text.” He pressed his number into her phone and slid it back across the table. “Just to like, make plans, I guess.” 

“Who were you just texting them?” She looked at him quizzically, picking up her shot from the table. 

“Nobody.”

“Seems like somebody. If you don’t wanna text with me, that’s fine…” 

“I just don’t have a lot of minutes.” 

“Spence, here!” Penny slid a tiny glass towards him. “Let’s cheers!” 

“No, thanks,” he murmured. He pushed it away with his finger. “Don’t drink.”

“Pffft. Since when? You drank with me and Will a couple months ago.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t anymore. Not thirsty. Don’t want it. Gotta stay, uh, sharp. For school.” 

“That’s the lamest excuse I’ve _ever_ heard!” Emily laughed. 

“No, no- it’s fine. Spence, you don’t have to drink, I was just curious,” JJ said. 

“Yes he does! Boy wonder needs to loosen up!”

That much was true, Spencer thought. Fuck, he really wanted that shot. Just one shot? Why was Professor Hotchner being such a hardass today anyway? 

The girls all did their shots and Penny did his too, rolling her eyes and giggling. She flung her arm around his shoulders and started singing pop songs that he wished he didn’t know the lyrics to. 

At least he was being good. If anything came out of this night, it would be that he was being a good boy. Good boy, he thought, _Professor Hotchner’s good boy._

The microphone buzzed over the loudspeakers and he winced. Noises, everywhere! It was hard to concentrate. “HELLO EVERYONE!”

Penny and Emily were still chattering to him but he deftly tried to tune them out. Instead he traced his finger through a puddle of water from the condensation of his glass of water and counted prime numbers backwards from 9999. Why. Was. Everything. So. Loud. 

_8389._

“Welcome to the Red Door’s bi-weekly trivia challenge night!”

_8291, 8287, 8273._

“I’ll be your host tonight, DJ Ronnie D! What say we get started with some questions, huh?”

_7993, 8009_

“Everybody get out your index cards and your pencils. If you don’t have one I’d suggest finding one now, or you’re going to be shit of of luck real soon!” 

_7817, 7823, 7829, 7841, 7853_

“Our first category is television! Whooo!”

“Yay, I love tv!” Penny squee’d. 

“You love everything,” Emily laughed. 

_7487, 7489_

“That’s true. I do.” She nodded seriously. 

“Who provided the voice for the brainiac lab mouse Brain on the animated series "Pinky & the Brain" from 1995 to 1998?” DJ Ronnie D shouted. 

“What the hell? What kind of question is that?” JJ snorted.

“I bet Spencer knows.” Penny stared at him. He really wanted her to stop. All three of them were looking at him. 

_7039, 7043, 7057_

“Uhhhh.” He didn’t want to think. Everything was so loud. 

_6983, 6991, 6997_

The microphone buzzed. “Everyone hold up your cards!”

“Spence, you okay?” JJ slid her hand over his and he looked her in the eye. Hers were so warm and concerned. Focus. Just focus. 

_6911_

“M’good. Just… loud.” 

_6907_

“Just breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Smell the flowers, blow out the candles.”

“I know. Excess CO2 exhalation. Regulating breathing, yeah. I know.”

_6823_

“So do it.” JJ said. So he did. 

_6473_

Okay… okay. Everything is okay. 

Spencer shook his head. “I’m okay. I’m sorry. Fuck. Sorry.”

“It’s okay Boy Wonder! Everyone has their moments!” Penny beamed. Where was the off switch on her?

 _No,_ Spencer thought, _she’s being a good friend._

“Sh— thanks. Uh, girl wonder.” 

“Ohmygod!!!” she giggled. “Did you see that, Em, he totally just gave me a nickname. I’ve been blessed by the gods. They’re shining down on me right now, I can feel it!” She fanned herself.

“Okay, and it looks like table 5 is our winner, The Red Hot Trivia Peppers! Everyone give them a round of applause!”

Spencer took in a deep breath. It was better now. 

“Our next question is—” he sing-songed. “When the Doctor first meets little Amelia outside after he crashes the TARDIS, what food does he ask her for?”

“Oh, an apple!” Spencer pipes up automatically, the same time that Penny screamed “APPLE!” at the top of her lungs.

“Boy genius?! You like Dr. Who? OH MY GOD! This night just keeps getting better and better!”

“Oh, God, Spence. You’re in for it now.” JJ laughed, covering her face, trying to stifle her giggling. 

“Twenty bucks says she ropes him into a marathon before the end of the week,” Em whispered to JJ, who smirked in return. 

“Oh, you’re so on.” 

“This is amaaaaazaballs!” 

Spencer cracked a smile. Suddenly Penny was kind of... cool? She was a Dr. Who fan, after all. 

They held up their sign for Apple and didn’t win, but only because Penny was too busy gushing over Spencer to notice that another team was holding up theirs first.

The questions flew by. They didn’t win, and that was okay. Spencer wasn’t their golden ticket; they were just there to have fun. Emily propped Penny up and had to walk her back to the bus at the end of the night. She drank a _lot_.

**Goin home. Flwd the rules. Pnny is hammrd. I agrd 2 hang w Em ovr break. s.**

**That’s my good boy. I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. Text me when you’re back in your dorm. H.**

Spencer reluctantly gave the girls hugs and walked back up to his dorm. Ethan was on the couch inside but didn’t acknowledge him, didn’t even look up from the TV screen. Spencer didn’t care. He shut the door to their room and took out his phone, his belly already flipping from happiness.

**Home, Sir. s.**

**Take a shower and go to bed. H.**

**Yes, Sir. s.**

Spencer laid down on his bed for just a moment. The whole day was exhausting. He closed his eyes for a second… just a second. Screw the shower. Fuck, he was tired. 

When he opened his eyes again it was morning. A twinge of panic swelled up momentarily before he remembered that he wouldn’t see Professor Hotchner today. He could shoulder now that it was morning. Some things he still had to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a very sexy chapter. but. I'm excited for the next few to come. Next update is 11/15. Thanks to everyone that continues to read and stuff, seriously, you're great.
> 
> I am approaching 50k words hell ye. This is my longest fic so far


	19. F**K You, Ethan!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chap Spencer and the girls went to trivia

_"There’s something horribly lonely about a place that’s almost home."_

― Blake Crouch, Dark Matter

* * *

After classes on Thursday Spencer let himself into Hotch’s office and locked it behind him like he was instructed to. It was risky, but Hotch had ordered it, and Spencer didn’t want to disobey, so he kneeled naked in his office waiting for him to come by. Plus, he couldn’t deny the sick sort of excitement he got everytime someone passed by the door.

When Professor Hotchner walked in, the hair on the back of his neck pricked up. I could have been _anyone_. He held his head down and his arms behind his back in perfect submission. Naked as the day he was born, he was baring it all without so much as a flinch. Professor Hotchner had seen every inch of his body so there was no use in hiding it now. 

Professor Hotchner grinned at him when he saw how small he looked. He told him to get against the desk, which is exactly what he did without a word. Then Professor Hotchner hoisted one of his legs up on the desk and sat behind him in his chair, letting him feel the tension and anticipation build up inside. 

With one hand he squeezed Spencer’s ass cheek and Spencer moaned out into the office desperately. He spread his cheeks apart and leaned in, burying his face between them. 

_Oh, God!_ Spencer gasped and jerked his hips forward but Professor Hotchner pulled him right back. 

“Sorry, Sir,” he whimpered with two thirds pleasure and one third wonder. 

He only responded by growling into his ass; the vibration had him rolling his eyes into the back of his head. His tongue and his mouth and his movements, _fuck_ — it felt like heaven on earth, if he believed in that sort of thing. 

“Oh, god, Sir— oh, feels so- so good, oh, _please._ ”

Abruptly, his tongue stopped lapping to push inside and Spencer didn’t know it could get better, but then it _did_ and he was seeing stars. Literal stars. The milky way. The andromeda galaxy, all of it, all at once. Fuck, that tonuge. My god, Professor Hotchner was out to kill him. 

Spencer grinned like a maniac at the revelation of what _rimming_ felt like. Needless to say, it was his first time having a tongue explore his ass. Hell, almost everything with Professor was his first, and he wouldn’t want it any other way. 

He was struggling to control his breathing, moans slipping out continuously, and his thigh shaking on the desk. The tongue slipped out, all hot and wet, then trailed down, grazing over his balls and his dick. Professor Hotchner lapped at his sensitive skin, sucking and licking and leaving soft little nibbles. He sucked one of Spencer’s balls right in his mouth and Spencer felt like he was going to pass the hell out. There was no way that that could be possible. What he was feeling just wasn’t possible; there was _no way!_

Professor Hotchner kept licking and licking at his cock and balls until he was so red hot and throbbing, his dick swinging heavy between his legs, and his rear end flushed the cutest shade of pink imaginable. 

“Tell me who you belong to,” Professor Hotchner whispered against his ass. It was a miracle that Spencer could hear it over the shaking of his thigh. 

“You, Sir. I belong to you. I’m yours!” he gasped. 

“Mmh, that’s right, sweetheart, all mine. This cock, all mine. _Mine._ This cute ass, _mine._ ”

“Yours, Sir. I’m all yours— oh, _fuck,_ ” he moaned. 

“Such a good little slut.” He dipped his tongue inside Spencer again and again making him cry out. “Does my little whore want to cum?” 

Spencer shook his head feverently. “Yes, Sir, please, I really wanna cum, oh God, please let me cum, Sir, I need it, I need it, I—”

“Always so needy, sweetheart.” He smiled. “Cum for me.” 

Spencer released himself all over Professor Hotchner’s desk with the feeling of Professor Hotchner’s strong grip wrapped around him. Cum splattered all over his paperwork, pens and a stack of quizzes. 

“Mmmh. Such a good boy. Always pent up and ready for me.”

“Yes, Sir, always,” he panted. “For you.”

“Come sit in my lap, baby,” he whispered behind him. Spencer backed up and slid his leg down from the desk to the floor where it wobbled precariously but held up. Moving back, he climbed up on his lap and cuddled on him, tucking his legs up and letting Professor Hotchner wrap his arms all the way around him. Being held was so nice. His head was heavy and lulling and feeling so blissful from his orgasm. He rested his head against his chest and hummed happily. 

“So, Spencer. Winter break is coming up in a few weeks. I’ve made some arrangements for you.” 

Spencer looked up at his dark, sloem face. “Arrangements? What kind of arrangements?”

“I’m speaking at a national conference—“

“Oh!” He squirmed in his arms with excitement. “The 35th Annual Forensic Psychology, Criminology and Psychopathology Conference? I heard about that.”

Hotch smirked and rolled his eyes. “Right. I’m sure you have. I’m speaking this year, and I’d like you to come.”

His face paled and his jaw dropped to his chin. “Really?! Me? You, you want me...?” 

“Yes. Of course I want you there. Haven’t I ever told you before that you’re my favorite student?” He winked. “There are actually three other students coming as well. They’re upperclassmen in the Psychology program, but I had a special exception made for you, my little genius.”

“You don’t think… think that’s suspicious? Or, uh, favoritism?”

“What, that I want my most gifted student to earn a few credits and get the chance to network? Of course not.”

Spencer blushes at the praise. He ducked his head hoping it wouldn’t be seen, even if he was supposed to let Professor Hotchner see him embarrassed like he said before. “I just don’t want you to get in trouble…”

“Spencer, even if things weren’t the way that they _are_ between us, I would still think you’re incredibly gifted and advocate for you to come.” He pressed a kiss to his forehead. “This is just an added bonus. Don’t worry; no one will know. You just be a good boy and act like normal for me. I know you’ve been to these before.”

“A Mathematics conference is hardly the same. It’s all, uh, nerds and equations and awkward silences.”

“Yes, well, I’m sure you’ll manage, Spence. Besides, I’ll be there with you.”

He smiled hazy and warm. “Mmmh. Thank you, Sir.”

“No need to thank me. You deserve it.”

. . . 

Ethan hadn’t spoken a single word to Spencer since their fight about the clothes a couple months back. The tension in the dorm was palpable, and neither wanted to be the first to cave and make amends, but Spencer was leaving for his conference in the morning so he _had_ to say something.

Just like Spencer didn’t enjoy going home on breaks, neither did Ethan. They had an unspoken agreement that they spent them together playing copious amounts of video games and watching all of Spencer's boring documentaries. It worked. It was company. It was friendship. 

This winter, though, Spencer was leaving him to his own devices, not that it looked like he even cared. Ethan was sitting on the couch with his legs propped up on the coffee table, his feet sitting right on top of one of Spencer's ScienceDirect magazines. _Cool._ He was munching on a bag of Lays and generally ignoring his presence. 

Spencer stood between him and the TV which wasn’t the best way to start off a conversation. He said he didn’t want to fight, but Ethan just shrugged. After he told Ethan, with a stern face and unwavering voice, that he had something important to say, Ethan shrugged again. 

“Aren’t you even a little bit curious what it is?” he asked. 

he looked to the side, trying to catch bits of the tv. Passive aggressiveness wasn’t a great tactic in problem solving, but it sure was effective in riling Spencer up. 

“It’s _important_. Can’t you just have a single conversation with me? I mean, Jesus, are we still fighting over a bag of clothes? Why do you even care where I get my clothes? You’re so… so _nosy_. Let me live my life and get off my back for once.” 

Ethan scoffed, looking up at him for the first time. “You think this is about your stupid fucking clothes? Fuck you, Spencer. You don’t know anything.”

“Well then what?” he groaned. “What did I do then?”

“For starters, you’re lying every single chance you get. First you got ‘mugged’ but you still had your wallet when we got back to the dorm, don’t think I didn’t notice that. Then your mom sent you a ton of money when she doesn't even have a job cause she’s in a hospital, and if she has money then why hasn’t she ever sent any before? ‘Cause I know you needed it. And third, where the fuck have you been going all the time? You don’t even come home some nights! Where are you staying?! What kind of shit have you gotten into?! Is it a girl? I mean, come on, Spence, if it’s a girl why won’t you just tell me? I thought I was your best friend? And, fuck, if it _isn’t_ then I don’t even know what to think!”

Spencer paled, looking back at him in shock. Clearly, he did not expect an outburst like that, and it was obviously something that he’d been sitting on for a while. Spencer didn’t really think he was that observant, and since he never said anything about the first time he spent the night out, he didn’t think he cared. Apparently he did. 

“For god's sake, Ethan, I’m not lying!” Spencer whined. “How many times am I go—”

“Until you tell me the truth! _That’s_ how many times!” 

He stopped his foot on the floor but failed to meet his eyes. Looking him in the eye… it seemed near impossible. “I am!”

“Bullshit!” Ethan shouted, getting up and throwing the bag down on the floor, spilling chips everywhere. “You haven't said one truthful thing to me in months! I’m fucking sick of it!”

“You’re an asshole! Why can’t you just be my friend? I don't need a warden, I need a friend!”

“What, you think _you’re_ being a friend? Friends don’t lie to each other, Spence. ” 

“Yeah, and friends don’t stick their noses in their friend’s business, either.” I’m that moment, he hated him. He hated him because he was making way too much sense. He hated him because he couldn’t bring himself to care. “You’re annoying, and maybe I’m lying cause I don’t want to tell you everything all the time. Maybe you aren’t _my_ best friend.” He turned up his nose. 

Ethan jerked to the side, fuming and clenching his firsts in a gross display of aggravation. “Oh, yeah? Then tell me, who the _fuck_ is? HUH?” he hissed. “Cause I sure as hell don’t see any other fucking friends of yours around. I’m the only one you got.” 

“That’s not—”

“Yeah, no, it’s true. I knew you were fucking annoying the day I met you. That’s why you don’t have any other friends, you know that? It’s cause you’re a know-it-all that doesn’t know when to shut up.” He moved toward Spencer, who was backing up into the tv console. “I didn’t care that you had your head up your own ass, at least you were _honest_ , shit, that was what I liked about you. You always used to tell it how it is. Now—” Spencer could see the anger written on his face, “Now I don’t even recognize you anymore. You’re hiding more shit than Area 51. Just _tell me._ Tell me the truth!”

“No!” he retorted, head swimming. 

Ethan grabbed at Spencer’s shirt collar. He flinched. He turned his head down, afraid, shaking his head _no_ , just barely. “Fine, you’re not— I didn’t mean, Spencer come on!” 

“Fuck— don’t—” Spencer whimpered. His hands were out in front of his chest as if Ethan was going to strike him. It was pathetic.

“Ugh. You can’t even…” Ethan scoffed, letting his shirt go and turning away from him. “Can’t even fucking fight.” 

“I can too!” Spencer shouted into his hands, wet and hot, tears brimming in his eyelids. He felt weird and tense. Ethan was so annoying. _Ethan_ was the annoying one. _He_ wasn’t the annoying one. _FUCK_ Ethan! 

“FUCK YOU!” He screamed. Silence ensued. 

“No, fuck you.” Ethan retorted, stone cold, from by the couch. “I’m done with you.”

It looked like he really meant it. 

Spencer grabbed his suitcase from their room and left. Ethan didn’t say a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update issss... 11/19. See you then!
> 
> Goobzoop.tumblr.com


	20. HOTCH

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chap Prof Hotch invited Spencer to a conference that he was speaking at, and then Spencer got into a big fight with Ethan

_"To serve is beautiful, but only if it is done with joy_

_and a whole heart and a free mind."_

— Pearl S. Buck

* * *

Everything was set and ready. Bags packed, papers written, teeth brushed. Spencer was texted and told to go to bed. Aaron was settled in for the night. His alarm clock was set to 4am, an hour before the train was scheduled to arrive in the morning, an hour he hadn’t seen in quite a while, not since his days back in the BAU working into the dead of night and the first hints of morning light. 

His blackberry pinged. 

**Hotch? Sir? s.**

Spencer was supposed to be asleep already. He gave direct orders. Aaron stared at the phone, frowning. 

**Go to sleep, Spencer. H.**

The blackberry was placed back on the nightstand as that should be that. Go to sleep was direct. Go to sleep meant go to sleep, and Aaron always meant what he said. Spencer of all people knew that _very_ well. 

_ping._

**can I call u, Sir? not at the dorm. pls? need u. s.**

Taking it upon himself instead, he dialed Spencer’s number so fast it barely gave him a breath in between. There was no way that he’d let anything happen to his boy. He was up out of his bed pacing the room and cursing the rings as they sounded out, silently ordering him to _pick up already._

“Professor...?” His voice came through clearly laced with tears. 

“Spencer, where are you? Tell me where you are, _now,_ ” he demanded. 

“Um, I’m just on campus… outside of Sedder’s Hall, but It’s closed… obviously, it’s late, I just, uh… didn’t, I don’t know where to go. Didn’t know what to do…” he breathed out, shaky and low, coming down to a whisper. “I need you, Sir.” 

“Are you hurt? Tell me what happened. I’m coming to get you.”

Sniffles came through the line. Hotch frowned. “Ethan and I had a fight… I didn’t wanna stay there anymore. I didn’t think about where I’d go, I just had to get out of there.”

“Did he hurt you? Don’t tell me he hurt you, Spencer, I swear to god if he laid a finger on you—”

“ _No._ ” His voice was breaking. Hotch’s heart was, too. “He didn’t. Just, I don’t think we’re friends anymore.” 

“Okay,” he replied. “I’ll be there in ten minutes, sweetheart. Don’t move a muscle. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir.” It always sounded so sweet coming from him. “Um, am I coming over to your house? Can I?” 

Hotch let out a sigh, his phone wedged between his ear and shoulder as he climbed in his SUV and started the engine. “Spence, sweetheart, no. I’m taking you to a hotel, you can spend the night there.”

“Really? But, wouldn’t it just be easier—”

“No.” Aaron didn’t like the way he was talking back. “I said no. Drop it.”

“O-Okay,” he stuttered. Afraid. “Are you going to spend the night with me there?”

“No, baby. I’m leaving now. I’ll call you when I’m there.” 

He clicked the line dead. In the resulting silence his stomach twisted all up in knots, not really sure if it was because Spencer was in trouble or because he was asking for more than he was willing to give. Bringing him home would be crossing a line that he didn’t want to cross. He wasn’t ready for that kind of emotional confirmation. He wasn’t ready to admit just how much he had grown on him. So, no, he wasn’t allowed over. 

Though, he would look damn good ass up, spread across his bed, and maybe he _really_ wanted him back home; maybe that was too hard to repress. Just the thought of him kneeling naked on the floor by the couch while he worked was thought enough to drive him wild with want, and— _no,_ no. 

Spencer was caved in on himself, crying into his arms when he pulled in the lot. As soon as they were in the car he scooped him up in a hug and kissed him, telling him not to scare him like that again, and he meant it. 

Being angry at Spencer was hard when he looked like _that_ , though, with his eyes stained red from crying, and his hair flying in all different directions. Fragile, afraid, and lost; he _needed_ him. 

“Come here, baby,” Aaron whispered against his neck. It was salty and moist. Spencer sucked in a big breath and it quivered in his throat like a bow strung too tight. “Daddy’s got you. Everything’s going to be okay.”

Those were exactly the right words to say; Spencer broke open, sobbing into his shoulder. His whole body wracked up and down. Little whimpers escaped his lips and he just _cried._

“Everything’s going to be okay. I’ve got you. It’s okay. Everything’s okay,” he poured into his ear. “My boy. Daddy’s here for you. That’s it, just let it out.” Over and over. As long as he needed it, Aaron would keep his voice calm and strong for his boy. 

He surprised even himself how _easily_ it came to him, the words to calm Spencer down, and it was a strange feeling to say the least. He’d never done this before; comforting someone had never been his forté. He nuzzled his nose into the hip of Spencer’s head, soft curled tickling his face, and he murmured against them. When Haley used to cry he never responded like this. He remembered stressed words at 2am trying to get the right sentiments out, the ones he thought she wanted to hear, but only ever making things worse. Something in his boy’s big desperate eyes spoke to him, guided him. It was easy, like cutting through a stick of butter. “Daddy’s here,” he cooed. “Daddy’s going to make it all better.” It felt _right._

He dropped Spencer off at The Marriott. Well, he tried to drop Spencer off, but there was no way that he was going to leave him alone when he looked like _that_. 

Instead of hugging him goodbye, he followed him up to the room and joined him in bed, letting him rest his head on his chest and having him tell him everything. 

Aaron didn’t ask Spencer to stop talking once he started on his stream of consciousness; it was far too rare for Spencer to really let his walls down and talk about his feelings, he couldn’t risk shutting him down. He wanted to hear every bit of emotion that escaped his lips. Aaron didn’t care much for research articles, he could read those himself. What he really craved was what went on in his brilliant boy’s brain. He wanted feelings, thoughts. Inside he could only imagine a beautiful disaster. It was everything that made him human, made him vulnerable. 

So Spencer cried and spilled all his worries about Ethan and their fight, how he had to lie about so many things, and Aaron felt a stabbing pain right in his chest learning about the kick off. Spencer didn’t deserve that… Spencer didn’t deserve to have to lie and lose friendships over something vile that _he_ did, something like _that_. But there wasn’t anything he could say to fix it, and he wasn’t about to give him permission to tell his friend the truth. That would complicate things too much. That would leave room for too many questions, questions they couldn’t afford, and Spencer was so obviously asking him for that permission in between the lines, even if he didn’t realize it. 

Aaron saw right through him. His actions, while genuine, were completely textbook. He couldn’t give him the one thing he needed, but he could give him a close second. In lieu of his blessing, he held him close and ran his fingers gently through his hair, listening to him cry, and it seemed to be enough. 

One day he’d make up for it. One day he’d make up for everything. He closed his eyes and took in the scent of his coconut shampoo while he comforted him. His boy deserved the world.

. . . 

Four am struck him and Spencer with a jolt to the tune of _Hells Bells_ by AC/DC blaring on the hotel alarm clock, staticky yet distinct in its 6 chord screaming, and he hurried them out of the hotel without any breakfast or coffee.

Spencer had his bags packed and despite his protests he dropped him off at the train station to wait for him while he went home and got his own luggage. There was no chance on God’s green earth that he would arrive at the same time as that boy in front of a bunch of nosy college kids. He didn’t care how much Spencer pouted. (It didn’t hurt that the pouting was charmingly adorable, either)

There were two students from his Advanced Criminology class, one from Applied Forensics, and then there was Spencer. He would have rather taken him alone, but things are never that easy. 

Spencer sat across from him on the train. Everything else was background noise. The chattering of the young adults he was supervising, the metal on metal screeching that sounded out continuously as they sped down the tracks, the broken static of the overhead radio trying to pump out music. 

All he could do was stare at that face cast in a bright white gold glow shining in from the window as the sun rose in the east, the way it fell off his eyelashes and poured onto his cheeks. The slope of his shoulder, his slight build, _everything_. He was an angel. Spencer was his angel, beautiful and delicate like a porcelain doll. 

Their feet almost touched in between them. _Almost._ Spencer was all legs. All limbs, really, lanky like the spindly Loblolly pines that grew back home in Virginia. So thin you could snap him in half, and he wanted to. 

He wanted to kick against his shoe, make him look over with those big, impressionable eyes and _blush_ , wanted to make him smile. He wanted to make him anything, but Spencer held firm on his gaze out the window, never wavering even for a second. 

Aaron followed his eyes but it was nothing special, just passing trees, passing houses. He was looking beyond that, somewhere in his mind's eye. Aaron’s face fell, coming to the realization that he may never fully understand what went on beyond that pretty face. Profiling could only bring him so far; emotional entanglements were an entirely different beast. He could hardly understand a normal person at the best of times, let alone a genius at the worst. 

Criminals? Sure. But moody, emotional, young adults? Not a chance.

But maybe understanding was overrated. Aaron nudged his foot against Spencer’s and he drew his eyes away from the window, slow like honey, and then he smiled. He blushed, ducked his head, bit his lip. Maybe whatever _this_ was, was enough. Besides, he had time.

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

Thirty two speakers, three days, and forty scheduled events, but only one held Spencer’s attention. He was there for Professor Hotchner. The man that owned him; every part of him, from his body to his heart, and every part of his mind. He was there to watch his lips move. Watch him command a room. Listen to every beautiful thing that spilled out of his mouth. That handsome, skillful mouth.

The students from Advanced Criminology left almost immediately after they walked in the door. What were their names, Laura? Andrew? He wasn’t listening when they made introductions. The third girl, though, the one from Applied Forensics, her name was Lila, and he knew that because she would _not_ stop talking to him. She was post-grad and studying to become a financial services and card fraud Specialist, said her acting career went belly up a few years back and she decided to follow in her mother’s footsteps. Probably a good move in the long run, really. 

“Do you want to sit with me? There’s a lecture starting up in auditorium B in five minutes. Come on, it’s right over there.” Lila brushed her blonde hair off her shoulders and gave him a million dollar smile. Spencer didn’t care much for the smile.

Instead, he turned to Professor Hotchner, looking for permission, and he nodded, so Spencer followed her in. 

“You know, you’re really lucky to be here, Spencer,” Lila whispered to him. They were seated towards the back of the hall, and the speaker was just taking the stage. “I’ve never seen anyone that was still an undergraduate allowed.” She pressed her hand down against her skirt and laughed a little, turning towards him. “I’m kind of jealous, actually. I always wanted to attend when I was still an undergrad. This is my second, now. It’s really great for networking, you know? Getting your name out there. Everyone is here. That’s really how you get into the field you want. It's all who you know. You’re getting a huge jumpstart.” 

Spencer leaned in too, whispering low, “I’m working on my PhD in Chemistry.” 

“Oh! I thought you said you were in your first year in psych? Okay, That makes more sense.” 

“No, I’m doing both.” He straightened back up. The speaker was about to begin.

“Both...?” Shelooked at him with her lips turned down in a twisty frown. “No way you’re doing— _Oh._ ” She trailed off, her voice faltering, “You’re _that kid._ The genius.” 

“Yeah,” he replied. “That’s me. Now _shhh._ ”

. . . 

Spencer and Lila were getting along swimmingly, and Spencer was pleasantly surprised about it. She could hold her weight talking about the course material, and it seemed like she did a lot of preparation for the event.

Everything was absolutely perfect. All the nerves in his body quieted down. He had a myriad of lectures to look forward to, Hotch close by for three whole days, and he had a new friend who was smart, funny, and super interested in him: they were already glued at the hip. He couldn’t go anywhere without her tagging along and for once he didn’t mind. 

The only thing that would make it better, he mused, was if Hotch, Professor Hotchner, could be with him too. Not across the room, sneaking glances when they could, but sitting right next to him. Thigh touching, heat sharing, closeness. Not even three hours passed by and he ached for it. There were only so many times he could shoot Professor Hotchner pleading eyes before they would become a little too obvious. Lila was there watching him like a hawk. 

So he got through the second lecture without falling completely apart, and Lila fed him a steady stream of jokes which helped distract him from how much he _needed_ Professor Hotchner. He was grabbing the underside of his chair when his phone buzzed and, _yes!_ Finally, some attention! 

**Go to the bathroom in the west wing in five minutes. H**

“Oh! This guy is totally amazing— he wrote that paper on behavior in modern day prison systems. He’s a wizard when it comes to analyzing people. I bet he’d make a great profiler.” Lila nodded toward the speaker, a middle aged man with salt and pepper hair.

“Mmh. I read that,” he replied, absentmindedly. There was nothing more important than that text, and his thumbs were scrambling to push in the little buttons. 

**yes, Sir! s.**

“Okay, so— two behaviorists finish having sex. The one turns to the other and says, “That was great for you; how was it for me?” Lila grinned at him. “...Hello? Earth to Spencer? What are you smiling at?” She waved her hand in front of his vacant face. 

“Huh? Oh, nothing. That’s funny, I get it. Behaviorists,” he mumbled. “I gotta go to the bathroom. I’ll be back in a bit.” 

She looked back at him retreating towards the door. “Don’t be long!”

Spencer shoved his phone in his pocket and hurried up the aisle, way too excited to wait five entire minutes. He slid into the bathroom and checked himself out in the mirror. Professor Hotchner would probably get there in seven minutes. Five for the wait and two for the walk and- _ew_ was that a zit? He leaned in and poked at his chin. His skin was always so clear. He frowned. Maybe it was because he didn’t usually look in the mirror. Maybe he always had them and never paid attention. 

He paid attention now, though, because someone was going to be looking at him. Really looking. Admiring, even. Professor Hotchner was always saying how beautiful he was… was he really beautiful? There were those big loose waves in his hair— which was long for a boy— and he didn’t even brush it that morning. Was there a brush in this bathroom? And those bags under his eyes were looking dark. He ran his hand through his hair; it snagged on a tangle, and he groaned. He didn’t hear the bathroom door open. 

When Professor Hotchner came up behind him his eyes went wide and he gasped. “—oh! Hotch, Sir!” He spun around and engulfed him in a hug. “I missed you so much.” 

“I missed you too, Spence,” he cooed. “C’mon, anyone can walk in here, get in the stall.” 

“Yes sir,” he chirped. “Wait—” he opened the door. Off colored beige. “Um, no, yeah. Okay.” 

“What’s the matter?” He looked down at him. 

“Nothing.” 

“Are you green?”

“Yeah,” he replied. The venting fan was whirring overhead. 

“I brought something for you.” Professor Hotchner leaned down to kiss his forehead before showing him the little black plug he was holding in his hand.

“For me?” 

“Yes, sweetheart. To remind you of me all day. To make sure you can’t forget who you belong to.” 

“I would never forget—” 

Professor Hotchner laughed. “I think you’ll enjoy this particular reminder.” And he winked. “Turn around, take down your pants.”

He stalled. Professor Hotchner didn’t say anything else. He turned and slid his pants down. The bathroom was cold.

Professor Hotchner was hot up against his bare ass and his mouth hot up against his neck placing kisses down it. It was really stuffy in the stall. Hotch put a finger in his mouth. He sucked it. The same finger went up his ass. It felt good. Professor Hotchner was so close. He needed him. He whimpered. 

“Need you, Sir…” he heard himself saying in a forigen voice, so desperate and broken. “Need you.”

His ass was hot and tingling, that familiar pleasure spreading throughout him. Professor Hotchner scissored his fingers and he knew the plug was coming soon. He was almost loosened up. 

The idea of Professor Hotchner’s plug up his ass was the most arousing idea he’d ever thought of. He’d be fighting a hardon for the rest of the day and that warm feeling of being special was spreading all through his limbs. They had a special secret, just the two of them. 

_Pop._

Back to reality. The plug was _in_. Full. _So full._ His ass was _so full._

“Mmh.” 

“Feels good, sweetheart?” he whispered against his ear. It made him shiver. 

“Yes, Sir.” It really did. 

It wasn’t nearly as big asProfessor Hotchner, but the constant pressure was amazing. All the blood in his body decided that his dick was the place to be. Hotch kissed his cheek and told him hands off. Spencer didn’t think that was very fair. 

“No taking that out. Understood?” 

That wasn’t something he had to clarify. Spencer wouldn’t do anything without his say-so. “Yes, Sir. I understand.”

“Good. Now get back out there, my little slut. I’m going to watch you squirm.” 

_Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for everyone that's continuing to read! Writing is a huge destressing mechanism for me most of the time, and this fic I wrote, am and still writing, though some troubling stuff. It was my coping mechanism to whump the hell out of Spencer while life was whumping me. 
> 
> ANYHOW, love you guys, CM fandom peeps are a top notch bunch. Next update will be 11/24


	21. This Ain't a Scene, It's-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter Spencer went to a conference with Prof Hotch and got a plug up his ass.

_“I won't apologize_

_For acting outta line_

_You see the way I am_

_You leave any time you can 'cuz_

_I'm crazy and I'm hurt_

_Head on my shoulders_

_Going...berserk!_

_Crazy! Crazy! Crazy! Crazy!”_

―Black Flag, Nervous Breakdown

* * *

Lila didn’t say a word when he winced sitting down; maybe she didn’t notice. But Spencer felt like everyone could see exactly everything he was doing and thinking, like his life was on channel 5 news and everyone was watching. This just in: Slutty Boy of Twenty-two Takes Professor’s Plug Up Ass During Dirty Kink Play! 

God, he was being so obvious, wasn’t he? 

Somehow his cheeks got redder and his blush stayed strong for the rest of the presentation. Every little move he made sent electric waves up his body. His satchel was taking up residence in his lap, because otherwise he’d be sporting a tent so tall he’d have to pay a mortgage. Oh— _no_. Again, with the moving. The plug rubbed up inside him and, _mmmmh._ Stifling his moans was a hard game to play.

“Spenceyy!” Lila whispered in his ear. “How about after this we get lunch?” 

“Yeah,” he squeaked. “Lunch.”

There was no way he was going to make it to lunch alive.

Except for the fact that he was standing in line for subs next to Lila and he was still breathing, so okay, he lived. Not exactly a revelation. He satchel was still doing god’s work, though. He adjusted the strap and got it at just the right height to cover his crotch. 

Walking was ten times worse than sitting down. 

Hotch was looking at him with a sly grin and he looked back blushing profusely, biting his lip. That _evil_ man. He _knew_ exactly what he was doing. He knew exactly the way he was making him feel powerless, owned, and utterly under his control. He was sitting at a table next to two other men in suits, and he wished so badly that he would call him over. 

No. As luck would have it, Lila ushered him, food in hand, towards another table and started introducing him to a Psychology professor from UPenn, making them shake hands which, first of all, _ew_ , and second of all, how could he focus with… with… well, with the plug. 

“Nice to meet you, Spencer,” he said. Spencer wiped his hand on his pant leg. 

“You too. I’m excited to hear your lecture on neurolinking development in adolescents tomorrow at 3:15pm.” 

“Oh.” He laughed, turned to Lila and made a face. “You're very thorough, young man.” 

“He is. He’s very smart. Psychology is his third degree, actually,” she said. “I myself am doing post-grad work on the real—” He tuned her out. Didn’t really care. 

Professor Hotchner was looking at him from across the room with those dark smoldering eyes. My God, he thought, how can he leave him like _this_?

Lila was pulling him again, this time towards another group of people and he scarfed down his sandwich before he was thrust in front of another Professor, and then another, and _another—_ he didn’t know there was going to be so much _talking_. It wasn’t even about anything interesting, either, just mindless small talk. Goddamn small talk. He couldn’t care less about the weather or the food. 

His ass was still burning with pleasure, stretched wide around the plug, and Lila dragged him by the wrist to another suit wearing professional. One too many, he was at his wits end, right about to complain when… okay, this one was pretty young, actually. He didn’t look a day over 23.

“Spencer Reid,” he said. For the thousandth time. 

“Dr. Oliver Owens.” The man smiled. He was all perfect white teeth and squinty eyes. His golden hair was combed to the side so that a few stray locks fell over his blue eyes. He looked rather good for someone that was supposed to be speaking. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“And you as well, Sir.” Spencer smiled. He stuck his hand out for a shake. 

“I’m Lila Archer!” Right, she was still standing next to him. 

Dr. Owens’s eyes fixated on him. “And what field are you in, Spencer?” 

“Psychology. For now. Also Chemistry, for my PhD.” 

Owens grinned. “Oh, is that so? Well look at you, Ace. Have a few more under your belt too, I’m sure?”

“I’m getting my—” Lila tried. 

Spencer flushed. “Yes. Engineering and Mathematics.” 

“I’ve got five myself,” he said. 

“Really?” Spencer grinned. “In what? How old are you?”

“Not much older than you, I would think. I’m 25, and they’re in Chemistry, Sociology, Criminology, Psychology, obviously, and philosophy.”

“Philosophy?” Spencer imagined a man like Dr. Owens pouring over the pages of Kant and Descartes. “That's interesting.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Spencer grinned. 

“Ah, Dr. Owens.” Spencer’s heart fluttered— _Professor Hotchner!_

“Agent Hotchner, how are you doing?” Owens smiled. “It’s been a while.” 

“Just fine. I see you’ve met my student, Mr. Reid here.” He laid his hand oh the small of his back and, ah, he really needed that. Butterflies erupted in his belly. He shifted on his feet- _oh,_ the plug. 

“Oh, yes. Spencer and I were having quite the chat, weren’t we?” he winked. 

“Yes, Sir.” Spencer couldn’t help but grin. Dr. Owens’s eyes were so inviting. 

Hotch’s were cold when he chanced a look over. _Oh, no._ what was that look for? That look was deadly. 

“Always interesting to meet another child prodigy, Hotchner. Can’t say I have the pleasure of doing so everyday. Us oddballs have to stick together, right, Ace?” He turned his head and winked. 

Oh, god. 

Spencer looked up at Professor Hotchner behind squinted eyes. He knew he was stretching his luck. He knew from the way that the hand on his back was tense and gripping the back of his suit jacket with a fatal intensity that this conversation was not going in his favor.

And he knew what he was about to say wasn’t going to help in the slightest, but he couldn’t stop it from leaving his mouth.

“Yes, Sir.” He looked back at Dr. Owens and smiled. The hand twitched on his lower back. “Absolutely.”

 _Stop it, Spencer!_

“Well, I’ve got to get back to the main hall, there’s a very ancy forensics tech waiting for me. But, here, Spence.” He slid his hand into his suit pocket. “My card. If you’re interested in collaborating, or anything really, don’t hesitate to give me a call.” 

He took it. “Thank you, Sir. I will.”

Hotch was frowning. 

“Oh, and Ace?” Dr. Owens looked back. “You can call me Oliver.” 

Spencer blushed, mumbling under his breath, _“Oliver”._

When Oliver left, Professor Hotchner’s hand slipped from his back and gripped around his wrist very tightly. 

“Sir?” he said, his voice low with uncertainty. There wasn’t any need to be uncertain. Professor Hotchner was easy enough to read in the fact that he was livid and about to show him just how much. 

His face was cold and Spencer shivered at the sight. 

But Professor Hotchner let it pass so easy that the frown fell off his face with the touch of a passing breeze, and what was left behind was calculatingly emotionless. Everything else had seeped right into his voice. 

“Give me the card,” he said.

Spencer’s mouth was dry. His tongue didn’t feel like it was supposed to be in there “No.”

“Spencer, I’m not going to ask you again.”

His hand was out. He didn’t want to give him the card. It was his card. He wanted it. He liked Dr. Owens, Oliver. 

“No!” He tucked the card under his sleeve, making it vanish like magic. 

Hotch leaned in even closer. “Lower your voice. You’re going to make a scene.” 

“I don’t care!” Spencer stepped back. Ah, the plug. 

“Don’t be a brat, Spencer.” He grabbed his wrist again, and whispered vehemently in his ear, “You know exactly what you’re doing. Don’t forget I used to be a profiler for the FBI. I can read you like a book, sweetheart.” His grip tightened. “You want to call him _Sir,_ hm? Bat your pretty eyes at him? You little cock tease. Think you’re clever? Were you trying to get me riled up? Wanted me to bend you over and fuck you? Is that what you wanted, little whore?” 

“No, Sir. I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“Like hell, you didn’t. You’re smarter than that,” he growled. 

“I didn’t! I’m _not!_

“No boy of mine is going to be making eyes at men right in front of me. Need I remind you who you belong to?” he rasped. “You’re mine. I own you. _Never_ forget that.” 

“No— S-Sir, I-I-”

“Tell me who you belong to, Spencer.” 

“Y-You, Sir. I’m sorry! You,” he gasped. 

Was it getting hotter? The room felt smaller. He yanked his wrist away and stumbled backwards into a group of people, “Crap! I’m so sorry— Excuse me, sorry—”

“Spencer! Where are you going?” Professor Hotchner called after him. He was already halfway across the room, breathing fast, head spinning. 

He needed someone. He needed to be alone. Fuck— what did he need? He needed something, but he didn’t know what. He weaved through tables and people chattering, through the dining hall, near the ice machine in the back and leaned against it. The metal felt icy cold against his back and he let out a long sigh. 

His head was starting to pound. _Thump. Thump. Thump._ The blood rushed against the walls of his skull. The pressure was rising. It hurt. It spun. He was faintly dizzy, but mostly it just hurt. The plug sat snugly in his ass, still stretching him wide. 

He pulled out his cell and plugged in the number of the only person he wanted to talk to. 

**202649388 Ethan? Need ur hlp S.**

**Who is this?**

**Spencer Reid S.**

**Since when do you have a phone?**

**I rlly need u Ethan S.**

**How did you know my number?**

**I rembr stff. Sw it once. Ethan pls? S.**

**What’s wrong?**

**I cnt tell u. I jst… I rlly need a friend rght nw pls S.**

**This again? Fuck you, Spencer. I meant what I said. I’m done.**

**Ethan! S.**

**Pls! S.**

**Ethan I knw ur gttng ths! Pls! S.**

**pls? S.**

Spencer blinked hard and fast, trying not to let himself tear up. The chairs across from him looked blurry, and the sconces on the wall looked like starbursts of shining light. _No crying!_ One big breath in, one big breath out. 

His heart was still beating wildly in his chest. “Gotta… gotta get out of here…” he mumbled and peeled his shirt off of the freezing metal he was leaned against. It stung like needles in his back. _Cold._ He stumbled forward into the hallway, and someone’s voice floated towards him— he knew that voice. _Lila!_

He hurried over— there Lila was, all blonde hair and peppy attitude— talking to another Professional Whatever about who knows what. But, no, her shoulders were slumped forward, that was weird, and her arms were crossed against her chest and that look on her face— Spencer had seen that look before. 

He came up behind the man who was standing tall in front of Lila, towering over her, talking to her in a sickening voice, saying something about her clothing, or her hair, or something else that Spencer didn’t even bother to listen to because Lila obviously needed some help and now was _not_ the time for listening, it was time for _action_ , or else who knew what that sick old man was going to do to his friend?! He couldn’t let this guy get his greasy hands on her— “Hey! You! Get away from her!”

“Excuse me?” said the greasy man. He turned around to meet Spencer’s eyes. “And who are you?” 

“You get away from my friend _right now!_ ” 

“I think you have the wrong idea young man, I was just—” 

“No, I know _exactly_ what you were ‘ _just_ ’,” he hissed. 

“Hey! Spencer! _Stop!_ ” Lila sounded so far away. He had to save her. 

He stepped forward, putting all his weight into his right foot he slammed his fist into the old man.

“Oh my God!” Lila screamed, and this time it was up front and center, piercing his ears, ringing out through the hall, echoing against the high ceilings. _No, no, no, no. What did he do? Hotch was going to kill him!_

But he HAD to! He _had_ to. Lila needed him, he _had_ to. The old man didn't get up. He stumbled back, hit the ground right on his ass and sat there like a beached whale. His face was red and he was scowling; he looked disgusting. As disgusting as he was on the inside. Fuck that guy! FUCK HIM. 

“Spencer, what did you do?!” Lila was yelling so LOUD. Why was she yelling at him?!

“Stop!” he shouted. His hands were covering his face. His heart was beating fast. People were starting to gather around. The man was still sitting on the floor. Couldnt that old geezer just get the hell up? Wasn’t he going to fight back? Sick old man didn’t have it in him? Not too old to harass a young woman, but too old to fight? Bullshit!

“Fuck you!” he hissed. _Thump. Thump. Thump._ his head was still pounding. His heart was racing. He needed to wash his fist. Sweat was dripping down the side of his head. He couldn’t catch his breath. Why couldn’t he catch his breath?

“You need to _leave._ ” Lila swore, and her hands were on him, pushing him away.

“Don’t touch me!” he screamed. Everyone was looking. There were so many eyeballs. “Don’t _touch me!_ ”

“Okay.. okay.” She backed up, looking at him like she was _scared_. Maybe she should be.

He dropped down to his knees and no one came close to him. Wheezing and rocking back and forth, he sat with his head in his hands. Everything was so very loud, and hot, and busy. 

People were talking and buzzing in the background. The scene played out like a movie before him but he wasn’t watching the screen. He was looking at his phone and trying to steady it in his shaking hands. He needed Ethan. He needed Ethan _now_. Screw everything, Ethan would understand. Ethan was his best friend. Or maybe he wasn’t, but maybe he would be again? God. It was so hard to breathe. 

**Ethan pls im srry I’ll tell u evrythng im so srry cn u cme pick me up** — “Hey!” Spencer clutched his cell in his hand; he couldn’t finish writing his message because someone was pulling him up off the floor. 

“Get off! Get OFF ME!” he shrieked. 

They didn’t listen. They were dragging him through the hall. The scene was getting farther away and he couldn't focus on where they were going.

“Stop struggling,” the voice finally said, and _oh_ , Professor Hotchner. Who else could it be? He jerked him to the right. Through a closed door. Then a second. Standing still. Breathing fast. Professor Horchner was staring at him, but he couldn’t keep _his_ eyes in one spot. 

A venting fan was whirring overhead. His wrist hurt. He was dragged all the way back to the bathroom. It was cold. Somebody was in the next stall. They were beige. The floor was dry but sticky. 

“I—I—” Spencer stuttered. The man in the next stall came out and started washing his hands. He was trying not to look at them.

“What the hell was going on back there?” He was so close to him he could feel his body heat. His eyes were boring holes into his head. 

“I-I- don’t—I couldn’t— he—”

The light overhead was making a sparking sound like the wiring was slightly off. _vzzzzzzt_. 

“What, Spencer?” he barked. “He was networking with your friend? He was going to give a lecture on psychosomatic somatoform disorders, what? What did he do? Answer me.”

The man shuffled awkwardly around them. Spencer’s eyed trailed his every movement. _Don’t go! Don’t. Don’t leave me alone in here!_

“He- he was harassing her— he—” Spencer looked around wildly. “Couldn't let him— couldn't let him _hurt_ her.” 

The man left. Professor Hotchner stepped closer. “You don’t go around assaulting people, Spencer, I thought you were smarter than that!” 

“I _had_ to!” He threaded his hands through his hair, breathing feverishly. 

“You were bad, Spencer,” he said, pushing him into the stall. He turned him around and kicked his foot between his legs. 

Spencer braced his palms up against the beige plastic. His thoughts were spinning. The fan was buzzing. Professor Hotchner was breathing hot on his neck. Hotch was angry. 

The faucet was dripping. He couldn’t see anything but the baby blue stall— _no,_ beige. He blinked. His fingers slid down the plastic. His wrist still hurt. His ass was full. Hotch was behind him. The fan was whirring. 

_9973, 9967, 9949, 9941_

Numbers. Prime numbers. 

“Disrespectful boy.” His hands were behind his back. Cheek against the stall. Breathing hitched. Eyes shut. Professor. 

_9931, 9929, 9923, 9907, 9901, 9887_

“Tell me you’ll behave yourself from now on, Spencer,” he demanded. 

_9883, 9871, 9859, 9857, 9851, 9839, 9833_

“I didn’t do—” He was breathing so fast, it was hard to catch a breath. “—anything wrong!”

_9769, 9781, 9787, 9791, 9803, 9811, 9817, 9829_

“Like hell you didn’t,” he snapped.

_9689, 9697, 9719, 9721, 9733, 9739, 9743, 9749, 9767_

The fan was getting louder. The sink wasn’t turned off. It was drip, drip, dripping. Professor Hotchner was pressed up behind him so hard. 

His arms were trapped behind him when all he wanted to do was cover his face. He couldn’t move; his cheek was pressed into the stall. His legs were wide apart. The plug. God, the plug. The fan was whirring. He couldn't breathe. There was no more oxygen left. They breathed up all the oxygen in the bathroom— they needed to open a window— oh, it was really hot— was it getting darker? Did Professor Hotchner turn off the lights? Why couldn’t he move his arms? God, he really wanted to go outside for some oxygen. He couldn’t breathe. His knees were quivering. Buckling. He was on the ground again. The sticky bathroom floor. Sticky and wet and grimy all on his nice dress pants, his jeans, fuck, it didn’t matter what he was wearing, he couldn’t breathe! Where was al the fucking oxygen?! What happened to the numbers?! Fuck, fuck— prime numbers, which were prime? He couldn’t remember. No, He remembered _everything._

“Hey— Spencer—” Someone grabbed his arm. 

“No! Let go! Let me go!” He jerked his arm back; it crashed into the baby blue stall. “Get— get off— off— go away— let me— FUCK!“ 

“Spencer, you’re having a panic attack.” Someone was talking to him from far away. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to be outside with the oxygen. He wanted to be in his dorm. In his bed. Under the covers. Where nothing ever happened. Ever. Nothing. 

“Sweetheart— Spencer—oh, Sweetheart.” They touched him again! Stop that! 

“Just breathe.” How could he breathe?! 

“Breathe, Spencer.” 

He couldn’t! He was going to die there on that still. Suffocate and _die_. “I’m going to die!” 

“You’re going to be okay, Spencer, you’re having a panic attack. Breathe. Big breath, Honey, come on, you can do it!.” 

“No! No! I can’t! I can’t!” He couldn’t. 

Fuck! Why did they keep touching him!? “ _Let go!_ ” he hissed. 

“Sorry, okay, just. Count? Okay? Can you count? No more breathing. 1, 2, 3… Sweetheart, come on.”

No!

“4, 5, 6, 7… You can do it.”

God, who even— basic numbers— why even count like that— ah, the oxygen— prime are so much better. 

“8, 9–“

“9679,” he panted. “9677.”

“Okay—” The voice was laughing. “That works, sure. Keep going.” 

“9539, 9547, 9551, 9587, 9601, 9613, 9619, 9623, 9629, 9631, 9643, 9649, 9661”

“Good boy.”

“M’not—” Ah. “9649” 

The lights were back on. “9643” 

He took a breath. “9631” He wasn’t going to die.

He looked up. “9629” 

Breath in.

Hotch. 

Breath out. 

“I’m sorry, Hotch.” 

“Are you okay?” He was kneeling down next to him. His pants were going to be grimy. “Tell me what you’re feeling.” 

“No, I’m not okay,” he replied. He wasn’t. “Take this plug out of me. I want to go home. I want Ethan. I want, I don’t know, Penny.” 

He paused, still shaking, and his voice faltered. “I want… my Daddy.”

Hotch sighed, big and breathy next to him. His cologne was strong and stung his nose. “I’m right here Spence. I’m always here.” Spencer wiggled forward and hugged him. He wouldn’t cry. He didn’t need to. But, God, Daddy always made him feel like it was okay to break apart. 

Too bad he already did. 

“Come on, sweetheart, up on your feet. No more of this dirty floor,” He said. 

Spencer took his hand and he pulled him up. “Thanks, Daddy,” he whispered. “Wait— My phone. Gotta get my phone.” He patted his pockets, then stuck his hands in and turned them out. “What...” his voice trailed off. “The card. It’s not here.”

Professor Hotchner didn’t say anything. 

“You took it! I can’t believe—” Spencer backed up into the stall. “While I was having a panic attack you took my card— just how calculated _are_ you?” 

His foot thumped into his cell on the ground and he picked it up. The screen turned on. His unfinished text flashed back at him. 

**Ethan pls im srry I’ll tell u evrythng im so srry cn u cme pick me up**

He looked up at Professor Hotchner. Back at his phone. 

“You don’t need it,” said Professor Hotchner, deadpan. Not denying a thing. 

He pressed send.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and all the support and the comments and kudos! ❤️❤️❤️  
> Next update is 11/28. Enjoy the holidays coming up, and stay safe!


	22. Bye, Daddy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chap Spencer had a panic attack and Prof Hotch was a mean man

_“All great and precious things are lonely.”_

―John Steinbeck, East of Eden

* * *

Spencer shoved his phone back in his pocket. “Okay, Daddy.” His voice was empty. 

“Let’s get you back to the hotel. You’ve had a long day, sweetheart.” Professor Hotchner was looking at him with concern in his eyes but Spencer couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Professor Hotchner wasn’t his Daddy right now. 

Professor Hotchner was _manipulative._

So was Spencer. 

He gave him a soft smile. “I left my satchel in the dining hall. Can I go get it, Daddy? Please?” 

Professor Hotchner looked at him for a moment, uneasy like he didn’t know whether Spencer should go, but he kissed him on the head and told him it was okay, so he made a beeline for the door with no intention of coming back. His phone buzzed in his pocket while he was in the bathroom so he whipped it out to see what Ethan said. 

**Are you serious? Don’t mess with me.**

**Im srs. Im srry. I've bn a sht friend ill tell u evrythng S.**

**Where are you? I’ll pick you up.**

**Syracuse NY. srry. I’m at a psych confrnce S.**

**Syracuse?! That’s 5 hrs away! Spence, it’s my dad’s birthday, I can’t make it there tonight**

Spencer swallowed. No, no, no. 

**I can pick you up first thing tomorrow**

**Oky... I cn manage till thn. tysm Eth S.**

**You owe me one.**

**I owe u a lot mre thn 1 S.**

He kept walking, not knowing where to. It didn’t matter. He made it outside the front of the building. People talking in whispers about the strange boy who had a meltdown. It didn’t matter. He pursed his lips and kept walking. Screw them. They didn’t know anything. They didn’t know him. They didn't know his life. 

Concrete. Walking across a parking lot. Bus stop. Can’t pay. Keep walking. Getting cold. Don’t know where to go. 

He pulled out his phone: screw Professor Hotchner. He didn't need a card; he looked at the damn thing, that’s all he needed. 

**201847743 Dr. Owens? Its Spencer Reid. I hpe tht offr fr anythng stll stnds? S.**

**It does. What did you have in mind? O.**

**Hw abt a ride? S.**

**Sure. I finish at 9. Which hotel are you staying at? O.**

**No, I lft alrdy… im smwhr. Walkng S.**

**Oh? Text me your location. I’ll be right there. O.**

Not even ten minutes after he sent Oliver the intersection he was at a black Subaru wrx pulled up beside him. Spencer finally breathed a sigh of relief. Something about Dr. Owens made him feel okay; he liked him from the moment they met. Maybe it was the young genius similariety, but it also could just as easily been his easy personality. 

Spencer climbed in the car and thanked him profusely. Dr. Owens wanted to drive back to the convention center, but Spencer started getting nervous about it, so instead he drove them straight to the hotel. It wasn’t the one he was supposed to stay at with Professor Hotcnher and the other students, but he found that he actually preferred that. He needed space. 

“Are you sure it’s okay that I’m here?” he asked, for what seemed like the millionth time. “I can always book my own room. I can pay you back if you book me one, really, it’s no trouble, I—”

“Spencer, it’s okay.” Dr. Owens, well, _Oliver_ , said. He was putting his briefcase in the closet and hanging up his jacket. “Trust me, if it wasn’t okay, you’d know. I’m always down to help out a friend.” 

“Thank you... I’m sorry.” He stood awkwardly near the bed. Could he sit down? He wasn’t sure. Should he ask?

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Oliver looked over at him and he shrank. 

“Um… I don’t know. I’m not even sure _I_ know what happened. One minute I was, uh, talking to my Professor, and the next I couldn't catch my breath. Then everything happened all at once. Yelling… running… people shouting. It’s kind of a blur...” 

“Sounds like you had a panic attack. You get those often?” He moved over to the second double bed and sat down, then frowned. “I’ve had a few.”

“No. Well, once or twice. At home… with my mom. Sometimes she got, uh, scary. I guess I would panic. The other day with my friends…” Spencer looked down at his shoes. “I guess I do. Panic. I’m... so stupid.”

“Hey, no, no.” Oliver chuckled, “You’re anything but stupid, Spence. You _know_ that’s not true. In the words of Aristotle, ‘No great genius has ever existed without some touch of madness’. And besides, everyone panics. Some a little bit more than others. I’ve had panic attacks before. I’m sure you know what it’s like being a little kid on a college campus. That’s scary. Me and you, we grew up way too fast. We’re always being put in situations that we shouldn’t be, right?”

“Yeah… yeah, that’s exactly right,” He wavered on his feet, picking at the cuticles on his nails absently. Oliver was so wonderful. He knew exactly what he was thinking. “I can’t believe I met someone who did the same thing as me.” He looked at him with wide eyes, and Oliver was smiling back. “I wish I met you when I was younger... it would have been so much better not to do it alone.” 

“You know what? Me too,” he said, a twinge of sadness seeping through his happy demeanor. “But here we are now, half-adjusted and still powering through it. Besides, we can’t go back in time, but we can certainly start now.” 

“Thanks, Dr. Owe- I mean, Oliver.” Spencer blushed. “I’m glad we’re friends. I don’t have many of those.”

“Want in on another little secret?” He smiled, then whispered. “Me neither.”

“No way!” Spencer half-laughed. He sat down on the edge of his bed- Oliver changed his room to a double just for him- and looked at him with affection in his eyes. “That can’t be true. You’re like, accomplished, smart, funny, goodlooking...” 

Oliver smirked. _Oh, God. Did he say that last part out loud? Please, please, please don’t—_

“So are you!” Oh. “You’re doing more at your age than I was, actually, you’ll probably surpass me when you’re 24. I bet you’ll have twice as many degrees and publish all sorts of papers. AndI— well, no, I don’t really have a lot of friends…” he said, more serious. He toed at the carpet with his socks. Plaid. “It’s not that easy when you’re a decade younger than all your colleagues. It didn’t get any better when I graduated. How many 24 year old doctors do you know? How many people under the age of 30 were speaking at that convention? I almost never get the chance to meet anyone my own age organically. So, trust me- I get it.” 

“Oh, right.” Spencer blushed. He was being very assumptious. Of course Oliver would understand. Of course he would get what it was like. The loneliness. Never feeling like you’re part of a group. Everyone always being so much older than you… That was all he’d ever known. And it was all Oliver ever knew, too. 

Spencer was all heated up. Warm, content. He wasn't sure if it was all the blushing he was doing, or the way that Oliver was looking at him all happy and sincere, or that fact that he still had that _plug_ up his ass, but he was very hot and bothered and if he didn’t concentrate hard enough, he was going to be sporting wood pretty soon.

Professor Hotchner wouldn’t want him to be getting an erection around Oliver. Hell, he wouldn’t even want him to be hanging around Oliver at all. But screw Professor Hotchner! he was the reason that he was here at all! Yelling at him, lying to him, manipulating him… that wasn’t part of their deal, whatever their deal was. And surely Spencer could make up his own mind on what it meant to be his sub. He didn’t want to be lied to. Sure, he liked having sex with him, but he didn’t like when he stole things right from his person like he didn’t deserve to have his own belongings! 

Yeah, screw him, and screw what he wanted. Right now, he couldn't care less. Right now he was with his new friend and he was sweet and sincere and wanted to talk about all the things that made them so similar, and Spencer wanted that too. He was allowed to want things. He was allowed to make friends. Briefly, he looked down at his phone showing ten missed calls and twenty unopened texts, but he didn’t read a single one. He turned it off. 

And the plug! Professor Hotchner was still getting to him, still _inside_ him even when he was miles and miles away. God, he really wanted to take it out, but he wouldn’t know where to put it if he did. What if Oliver found it and thought he was some kind of pervert? Ugh, he didn’t want that happening, not at all. 

They ended up ordering room service and eating burgers when the serious talk slowed down. Oliver was easy to open up to. He understood everything. Plus, he could keep up intellectually on a level that he never experienced with anyone before. Neither of them could talk fast enough, their ideas flew around so fast. There was a lot of tripping over words trying to get it all out so quickly, and a lot of laughter about how ridiculous they were, but both of them secretly loved it. Or not so secretly, speaking by the huge smiles they both had plastered on their faces.

Spencer thanked Oliver again before they drifted off to sleep across the room from eachother. He was going home in the morning and probably wouldn’t see Oliver again. His stomach twisted up at the thought. He wished that he and Oliver could stay friends and hang out all the time. It would be so cool to have Oliver in his life. But life was never that easy for him. 

His phone sat on the night stand dead to the world.

. . . 

“You'll keep in touch? I really hope you do.” Oliver said. His hair was still discheved from sleep, and he was sitting cross legged on his bed, watching Spencer pack his things. Spencer could have stayed there in the hotel with him all day, just talking about anything and everything, but Ethan was ten minutes away.

“I will. I’ve got your number.” Spencer smiled. He felt happy. Sleep did him some good. Being there with Oliver did him some good. “And you’ve got to stay in touch with _me_ , too.”

“Fine. We stay in touch with each other. Deal?” He grinned. 

“Deal.” Spencer grinned back. There wasn't much that had to be said anymore. 

Oliver helped him take his bags down to the lobby and waited around for Ethan to show up. When a beat up blue clunker pulled up to the enterence, Spencer gave him a sad smile. He gave Spencer a hug goodbye and waved him off, still in his disheveled blonde hair and plaid blue PJs. Spencer didn't mind at all.

Spencer didn’t feel so antsy anymore. It was like yesterday never happened. Back with Ethan, going home. Back to the Safety of his dorm. Everything would go back to normal. He hopped in the passenger side and pulled his seatbelt on. The engine roared to life. 

His phone buzzed in his lap. Another text from Professor Hotchner, it’d been buzzing nonstop since he turned it on this morning. He looked out the window at the long, flat fields of green that passed by. He hadn’t texted Hotch back since he ditched him at the conference and was starting to feel a twinge of regret. He hoped that he wouldn’t be too mad at him. In the moment, it seemed like his reaction was appropriate, but now? In the light day? Yeah, he absolutely ditched Professor Hotchner and _fuck_ he was going to be in so much trouble. He didn’t want to be in trouble.

And, sure, Professor hotchner was still in trouble with _him_ , he was still mad about him trying to keep him away from his new friend, but… maybe… just _maybe_ he overreacted. A little. Professor Hotchner was willing to be his Daddy and he threw it all away, for what? For being mad? He didn’t even let him explain himself. He didn’t even let him say he was sorry. He was being a bad boy again…

Why couldn’t he just be a good boy for once?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk when the next update is. I have some personal stuff going on. I'm gonna shoot for 12/3. But, we'll see


	23. Hotch's House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ohhh boy, Spencer is in for it this time. 
> 
> Last chapter Spencer spent the night in Oliver's hotel room and Ethan came to pick him up and bring him home.

_“A man so painfully in love is capable of self-torture beyond belief.”_

―John Steinbeck, East of Eden

* * *

“Who was that?” Ethan cut into his thoughts.

“Hm? Who?” he mumbled. 

“That blonde guy at the hotel. Who was that?

“Oh. Uh. His name is Oliver. Oliver Owens.” 

“And he is…” Ethan trailed off, looking over at Spencer like he was expecting more. “Does he have anything to do with what you were going to tell me?”

“Right… _that_.”

“Yeah. That,” Ethan said. “You’re still going to tell me. I drove five hours for you, Spencer. Don’t back out on me now, I swear to God, dude.”

“No- No, I will. I said I would, and I will. Just… uh, give me a second? Okay? It’s a lot.” The words were swirling around in his head, but he couldn't spit them out, not now. He wasn’t… riled up any more. In the heat of the moment this seemed like such a good idea, but _now?_ Now he just wanted everything to go back to normal. 

If he told Ethan… Well, there’d be hell to pay. He could kiss his life goodbye. He could kiss Hotch goodbye. He could kiss everything goodbye. No, he couldn’t tell Ethan.

“The reason… I’ve been lying to you… which I'm really sorry about, by the way…”

“Yeah?”

“I’m gay,” he said. 

Ethan took his eyes off the road for a split second to squint at him. “That’s it?”

“What do you mean, that’s it? I’m _gay_.” Spencer scoffed. “I didn't want to tell you. You don’t know what it’s like to be the world's biggest outcast. I didn’t need to throw gay in the mix, too.”

“So, like, what? Oliver is your boyfriend then? How does that explain anything?”

“No!” Spencer blushed. “I mean… yes?” _Fuck. What was he doing?_ “I didn’t want to tell you because… he’s older. He’s 25. And… he lives far away.”

“Seriously, dude? How is that something you need to hide. Five years ain’t nothing.”

“That’s why I was gone so much... because I was visiting him. And, uh, I don’t know E, I was scared to tell you. I thought you’d hate me. You’re always trying to set me up with girls.”

“If you told me, I would have set you up with guys!” He laughed. “Have a little faith in me, dude, I’m not an asshole. ...Usually.”

“Well, I don’t know! I’m going through an identity crisis, okay? Cut me some slack.” He twitched nervously. There was something brown and crusty on the car seat and he started picking at it. Fuck. He needed to wash his hands. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m still gonna bust your balls about it.” Ethan grinned. That asshole. He could have that, though. He deserved it. 

“So he bought you all those clothes?” A wide grin spread over his face, devilish and sly. “So, what, is he like your sugar daddy then?”

“Hey!” Spencer blushed deep red. “He is not! He’s just caring and he has a real job. Besides, you can’t just assume he’s my sugar daddy because I’m gay. That’s offensive.” 

“I didn’t mean it like _that_ , I was just kidding.”

“Yeah, well, he’s just like any other boyfriend. We’re equal. And we fight sometimes.” He paused, and looked out the window again. “Like… outside the bar. When I said I got mugged… he was visiting and we had a fight, and it was heated. That’s why I was so upset. It was… traumatic.”

“Spence, I’m sorry, I didn’t know. You could’ve told me.”

“I didn’t want to. It’s not about lying,” he said, even though it was absolutely about lying. Lying was becoming second nature. Lying was an easy collection of facts stored under different people. It was no trouble at all recalling who he told what. He’d never forget a lie. “It’s about not being ready. Sometimes I don’t want to share. Sometimes I want to keep it to myself. Can’t you let me have some secrets?” He bit his lip. “Without thinking I’m a bad friend?” 

“I never thought of it like that, I just saw that you weren’t being real with me when you always were before. I always liked how upfront you were. All facts, an open book. I guess I never thought that you could be dealing with personal issues that you didn’t feel comfortable sharing.”

“Well… it’s okay.” They passed 15 traffic lights so far. “I forgive you.”

Ethan’s shoulders relaxed and his grip loosened on the steering wheel. “Yeah, me too.”

A comfortable silence settled itself in the car. Faint rock hummed on the stereo system and everything seemed to be just as it is. He fixed things with Ethan, that’s good. Next was Professor Hotchner.

That could wait, though. They still had a five hour drive back to campus and Ethan was bound to make at least five stops, and that was bare minimum.

Spencer asked him about what was going on in his life for the first time in... what, months?

There was so much piled up shit that he hardly knew where to start. He passed all his finals with straight As, he started hanging around with those weird drama kids that were always loitering around Madison hall, and _oh,_ he and Elle were ‘talking’.

How did Spencer miss _that_? Without a doubt, Ethan was bonkers over Elle. The fact that he wasn’t shouting it from the rooftops and banging pots and pans in their kitchen was frightening. That’s how badly Spencer fucked up his friendship with Ethan; screaming from the rooftops bad. 

They stopped at McDonalds at the next exit to bond over a bunch of greasy burgers and deathly salty French fries and got back to being Ethan and Spencer. 

Once they were back in the city, Ethan glanced over at him with an anxious look on his face, then told him they were going to pick up Elle. That was fine. Spencer could do that. 

Elle was charming. She was clever, too. As soon as she was in the car she was throwing questions at him that even he had trouble thinking through. He decided he liked her. They got back to the dorm and the three of them flopped down in front of the tv to embark on a day-long journey into the wonderful world of Star Trek. Not a bad day, to say the least. 

He was curled up in bed by 11pm, staring at the wall when he couldn’t stop his thoughts from spinning. Finally, he decided to take out his cell. He would have to deal with Professor Hotchner eventually. 

Bright green light illuminated his face. A swarm of unopened messages greeted him. 

**Spencer, where are you? H.**

**Spence? H.**

**Sweetheart? H.**

**Have you lost your bag? H.**

**Where are you? H.**

**Did you leave? H.**

**Answer me, Spencer. H.**

**Spencer, are you okay? Meet me back in the auditorium. H.**

**Are you at the hotel? H.**

**Spencer, answer me right now. H.**

**Spencer. H.**

**I’m worried about you. H.**

**You’re not at the hotel. Spencer, answer me. I’m not mad, I just want to know you’re okay. H.**

**Spencer, please? H.**

**Look, I know you’re angry with me. Let’s talk about it. Just tell me where you are. H.**

**Spencer Reid, I swear to God. H.**

**Just tell me you’re not off dead somewhere. H.**

**You’re acting incredibly bratty, Spencer. H.**

**Spencer! H.**

**You’re not going to get away with all of this without an explanation. There’s going to be hell to pay, darling. H.**

**You had better be somewhere safe tonight, Spencer. H.**

**Call me if you need me. I won’t be sleeping. H.**

Ah, god. He was furious. There were a dozen more. He certainly shouldn’t have ignored him for so long.

Spencer typed out a message, an annoyingly long one seeing as he had to click the buttons several times to get the right letter, and his thumb hesitated on send while he started at the menacing little letters on the screen. 

**I’m sorry, Sir. Forgive me? s.**

What if he _didn’t_ forgive him? What if he was done with him for good? What if he’d irrevocably screwed this up? 

Spencer wanted to curl up into a ball and die. 

He sent the message. He was right about to shut his eyes and succumb to sleep while he waited for a response but he texted back almost instantaneously. He must have been waiting by his phone. 

**Where are you? H.**

**Ethn pckd me up. Bck home. srry. s.**

**My office tomorrow morning at 8 am. H.**

**Won't you be at the conference? s.**

**My bratty boy seems to like causing trouble. My office, 8 am. Understood? H.**

**Yes, sir. im so srry. :( s.**

**You’ll have enough time to apologize tomorrow. Go to sleep. Now. H.**

**Yes sir. s.**

He did as he was told. 

Professor Hotchner’s text instructed him what to wear in the morning. There was a beautiful sense of normalcy to it. 

Except that he was so nervous he wanted to puke. 

When he showed up to his office, Professor Hotchner didn’t say one word to him, just grabbed him by the upper arm with a bruising grip, pulled him to his SUV, and started driving. 

At least he wasn’t getting yelled at, not yet. Not that he ever yelled at him, but the thought of that possibility sent chills down his spine. 

Spencer kept his eyes glued outside watching the buildings pass by. They slowly transitioned from industrial and he dared a glance over at Professor Hotchner. 

“Um, Sir? Where are we going?” he whispered. “We’re leaving the city. There aren’t any hotels out here.” 

“Be quiet. You’ll know when we get there.”

His lower lip quivered. “I’m sorry, Sir.” 

Another twenty minutes passed and Spencer felt sleepy. He was leaning his head against the window and watching the trees go by. He hardly noticed when the car stopped. 

“Get inside and take off your clothes. Not a peep out of you until I say so, got it?” 

Spencer gulped, his throat dry, and he looked up. “Yes, Sir.” His hand was shaking on the door handle. Professor Hotchner released the lock and let him out. An average suburban home greeted him from the driveway. White house with black shutters, green grass and a picket fence out front. 

Professor Hotchner’s _house_. 

Why did he finally decide to bring him home? He hadn't even been a good boy. A twenty foot pole wouldn’t be long enough to touch a good boy. He was the farthest thing from a good boy. He was a _bad_ boy.

“Inside, Spencer,” he barked. “Get your head out of the clouds.” 

“Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir.” He cowered, went through the doorway into the main hall and cataloged every inch in his memory. Dark, contemporary, minimal. Clean, but in the sense that it looked untouched.

But he couldn’t think about that. He had to strip. After he took off everything he stood there by the door completely naked, waiting for him to come back from wherever he went. He crossed his feet and bit his lip, feeling out of place. A sudden impulse has him wanting to cover his cock with his hands, but Professor Hotchner wouldn’t like that at all. 

He can back a few minutes later, eyeing him up. “Follow me.” 

The room over was the living room as it was just as simple. Maybe Professor Hotchner wasn’t the most present, or homely, but Spencer assumed it would look a bit more lived in given that he wasn’t a field agent anymore. 

“On your knees,” he commanded. 

Spencer dropped. 

Professor Hotchner sat down on the couch in front of him and grabbed him by the hair at the base of his neck to pull him forward. Spencer walked on his knees with the help of his strong grip and inched up in between his legs. 

“Head down. Show some respect,” he growled. 

Spencer stopped looking at him and bowed his head. Below him, he felt so small.

He wished that Professor Hotchner wasn’t mad. If he wasn’t mad he could be a good boy and get fucked and played with and, Jesus, why did he have to go and screw everything up? 

“Things are going to change from now on,” he said, his voice steely cold. “No more of this bratty behavior. No more taking advantage of all the leeway I give you. Clearly you can’t handle it.” 

Spencer kept his head down. The carpet was speckled tan and brown and black

“Going forward you’re going to update me with everything you do. That means waking up, eating breakfast, and taking a piss; everything. No more _breathing_ without my permission. You’ll be begging for everything. No coffee unless I say so. No reading unless I say so. No friends unless I say so. Look at me.” Spencer raised his head. “Are we clear?”

Spencer's bottom lip was trembling. Holding himself together was becoming more of a struggle but he didn’t want to show weakness. He also wanted to break apart in front of him so he could be his Daddy and put him back together, but something told Spencer his Daddy wasn’t around at the moment, so he bit his tongue. 

“Yes, Sir.” He nodded and bowed his head again. 

Professor Hotchner hummed. “You have a bed time now. Nine pm. You text me that you're in bed by nine every night. You wake up at five am. You go for a run every morning. Clear?” 

Spencer did _not_ want to run everyday. But what was he going to do, say no? 

“Yes, Sir.”

“And enough with the ‘Sir’. From now on, you will address me as Master. Do you understand, Spencer? Look at me.”

Spencer’s head shot up; piercing eyes held him steady. 

His breath caught in his throat. The room shifted. His chest felt heavy and hot. 

“Say it,” he said. “I want to hear you say it.”

Spencer swallowed, felt a surge of warmth course through him. “Yes, Master.” 

Professor Hotchner groaned low and barely audible. 

“Recite the rules back.” 

“Text you with anything I do. Wake up at 5. Sleep at 9. Run in the morning. No breathing, no pissing, no reading, no breakfast, no coffee, no friends, no anything without asking for permission, Master.”

“We’ll see how well you live up to it. I can’t expect much from a bratty little boy like you, can I? Still so resistant to follow orders. Get up onto the coffee table.”

Spencer looked at the table and back to him- he couldn’t be serious, could he?

He looked serious. 

“Yes, Master.” And he climbed up onto the coffee table, hand and knees. 

“Grab your ankles,” Professor Hotchner instructed. Spencer had to lean his face against the coffee table to reach down to his ankles and grab. His ass was up in the air, everything on display, and his face turned to the side, pressed into the glass, facing his Master.

As his eyes slid slowly over him, he tried not to wiggle or shift his weight. “Stay. I’ll be back in two minutes.” 

Exactly two minutes later he returned with a handful of supplies and came up behind him. Every nerve inside him was vibrating. This was it: every terrible, insolent move he made over the past two days was about to be directed back at him in the most painful way possible. He could only hope that he’d learn something from it. 

Otherwise, it’d just be pain. 

Smooth, cold metal slid around his ankles and clicked, then his wrists, and he whimpered faintly. When he tried to move again he couldn’t get a single inch. His ankles were spread apart approximately two feet by a metal rod and fastened at each end with a metal cuff. His wrists were secured next to each ankle in their own metal confinement. 

“Mmh… Master…” he whined. 

“I told you not to speak unless spoken to,” he rasped. _Smack_. Right on his exposed ass. His dick swung back and forth with the motion. God, how embarrassing...

Spencer didn’t reply. 

“This will fix that,” he said, and Spencer heard rustling around behind him. “If you want to use ‘red’, you’ll do so with a button. Understood?” 

“Yes, Master.”

He placed a little button in his hand and made Spencer click it, producing a sharp _pop_ sound. Then he waved a red ball in front of his face. His eyes glided back and forth watching it go from side to side. 

“Open those pretty lips, my little slut.”

He opened and Professor Hotchner forced the ball gag inside his mouth, snugly resting far enough in that he couldn’t fully close his mouth anymore. 

Without any further warning, he was pressing a slimy finger up his ass and working it in and out. 

“Only one finger today, Spence. I want you to _feel_ this. You’re going to feel every inch of my cock, whore.” He pushed in over and over, and Spencer yanked his wrists and ankles against the cold metal, powerless against it. As the finger kept pulsing in his ass, red hot warmth spread up his spine. 

Uselessly, he moaned out against the ballgag but everything was muffled. His thoughts were his greatest weapon, and he was rendered completely useless; wholly at the mercy of his Master. Professor Hotchner’s tip pressed up against his hole and he shut his eyes so tight it hurt. His ass wasn’t nearly as prepped as it should be. Without a doubt, that cock was going to destroy him. It was going to rip him open. That cock was dangerous. Professor Hotchner was. 

At least it was lubed, mostly. Professor Hotchner pressed in, stretching him fast. He groaned against the ballgag from deep in his throat. His ass ached with each passing second like the world was ending, or beginning, or something- he wasn’t sure, because he couldn't focus on anything except for the pain. His Master kept pressing in until he was halfway buried up his ass. His hands were clenched tight in fists, the only part of himself that he could control anymore- There wasn’t even enough room to turn his head from side to side. 

A choked sob cracked from his throat. His little safety button was clenched in his fist, the corners digging little pricks into his skin. Even the button hurt. He wouldn’t press it, though. He _deserved_ this.

A slap landed on his ass cheek, stinging and sharp. 

“This is what disrespectful boys get, Spencer. This is what disobedient, bratty boys who don’t do what they’re told, _get._ And your punishment hasn’t even begun, Sweetheart, you’re _lucky_ I’m even using your ass. You were such a _bad_ boy, Spencer. So disappointing.” 

“Mmgmdsoorfgy!”

“Hm? What’s that? Little whore wants to say something? What a shame.” He thrust the rest of the way in, eliciting another gasp from underneath him. “Don’t forget who you belong to, sweetheart. You don’t forget, though, do you? You choose not to listen. I’m the one who makes the rules, honey. Tonight I’ll show you what happens when you disobey.”

Struggling against the metal, Spencer lay helpless on the coffee table and took Professor Hotchner’s cock over and over again as he plowed into him. His strong hands gripped his hips and pulled them back as he thrust forward, and he slapped against him, skin on skin, in a menacing clap that stung his ass. It put an ache so deep inside him, he didn’t even know Professor Hotchner could reach that far. He was jackhammering into him relentlessly. All he could do was take it; bounce back against his hips with every thrust and take it. It burned so bad he wanted to cry. 

Spencer didn’t know how long his Master had been fucking him for, maybe ten minutes, maybe a half hour, before the pain that was unbearable faded and was replaced by something far more pleasurable. That steady burn was still present, but underneath was a fire building, white hot. 

His cries gave way to guttural moans and some embarrassingly high pitched squeaks. Professor Hotchner’s cock filled him up so well; when he was inside him it was as if nothing else mattered. His own cock was flush against his stomach aching, leaking, and lonely. His heart was going a mile a minute and his thoughts slowed to a crawl. In fact, there was really only one thought on his mind, and it played on loop: _Please, Master, Please, Master, Please!”_

The way that Professor Hotchner moved his hips started becoming erratic and harder. Spencer arched his back even deeper knowing what was coming. Every thrust hit him deeper, and his lust was reaching and all time high. His dick was leaking so much cum; it was practically vibrating between his legs. He moaned deliriously into his ball gag. Spit was flowing down his chin and getting the tabletop all sticky. His jaw ached. 

Professor Hotchner groaned above him, gripping his hips so tightly that he screamed into the gag, and then he could feel a warmness seeping out of him. Cum slowly leaked out after he pulled out, sliding down his balls and thighs, all warm and gooey.

“Filthy little whore, look at you, covered in cum, spit, and sweat. Freshly fucked, ass red. You’re a bad little whore, Spence.” 

Spencer couldn’t even smile right. Despite the fact that his Master just called him all sorts of vile things, it still made him want to grin from ear to ear. Master was always so nice after play.

Professor Hotchner hiked up his pants, sitting down on the couch across fro him, and didn’t so much as glance over; he still had a raging hard on! He turned the television on and clicked through it. Spencer moaned into his gag. Nothing. He rattled his wrists against the metal. 

“Mhgfhhgmfg,” he moaned. “Mdfhjgjmhfg!” All that accomplished was getting more drool on himself. He was nearly having a fit trying to wiggle in his confinement and touch himself, but nothing came of it. His dick needed attention. Something, _anything!_

He wasn’t sure how long his Master sat there watching television, (which he couldn’t even see with his head to the side!) but eventually he got up and released the gag from his mouth, probably because he was basically dry humping the air. His cock was crying with pent up pressure. He had tears leaking from his eyes from how bad he _needed_ release.

“Is there something you want to say, Spence?”

“Yes, Master, please, please, please!” he panted, breathy and hoarse, “Oh god, Master, please, let me cum, I need to cum, Master, please! I need it! Let me cum, oh god!” 

“Not now, whore.” he spat. Fuck. He was still angry. 

Spencer dry humped the air in a desperate attempt to feel something. “I’ll be good, I promise, I promise! I’ll do anything, please, let me cum, Master, please, I’ll be a good boy! I’ll be a good whore for you, Master, _please—_ ”

“Desterate little slut.” Professor Hotchner frowned. 

“I’m sorry, Master, I’m so sorry. I’m so, fuck, please! I’ll be good. Let me cum. Can I cum? Master? Please? Touch me? Oh, god! Touch me, please? I’ll be a good boy for you!” 

“Mmmh. You’ll be my good boy, will you? 

“Yes, yes!” 

“Who do you belong to, Spencer?”

“You, Master. I belong to you. Nnnf- I’m yours. Yours.” 

“That’s right. You’re _mine_. You will always be good for me; that’s the baseline. And I decide when you cum,” he rasped. “And you don’t deserve to cum right now.” 

“But, Master, please!” 

He growled, low and authoritative. Spencer shivered. “Tell your Master what a whore you are.”

“I—” Spencer's head was spinning. All he wanted to do was release himself all over the table. His cock was aching so loudly it was the only thing he could think of. “I’m, I-I don't know.”

“You don’t know what a little cock whore you are? How good that little ass is at swallowing up my cock, hm? I think you do.” 

“Yes, Master, I-I want your cock so bad,” Spencer whined. _Cock. Oh god, Cock._ “I’m a whore. I’m a whore. Your whore, Master, please, I’m sorry, please! I’m your little cock whore, Let me cum, please!”

“No sweetheart, bad boys don’t get to cum when they want to,” he said, his tone cold. “Now be still while I take this off you.” 

Spencer nodded his head, getting spit smeared even more so onto his cheek while he unlocked his restraints and scooped him up. A trail of spit hung off his face to the puddle on the coffee table and he flushed with embarrassment. As soon as he placed his feet on the ground he buckled and collapsed on the rug. His legs were completely jelly. 

He lay there panting; he wasn't sure what to do. He wouldn't move without permission. 

“Get up,” he demanded. Usually after sex Professor Hotchner would help him up… Spencer got to his feet by himself. “Bend over. On my lap.” 

“Yes, Master,” Spencer whispered with his head bowed. He leaned over Professor Hotchner’s lap and settled down on his knees, his hard cock pressing into his slacks. He moaned. 

“You know you were a bad boy, don’t you? You didn’t listen to me, did you? You refused to hand over that card, you talked back, you ran away from me, you left the conference all by yourself, you ignored my messages,” Professor Hotchner growled. “Bad boys get punished.” He leaned over to the pile of supplies that he brought over and pulled out a paddle and a ring. With one hand, he pulled Spencer’s butt up and slid the ring onto the base of his cock, then let him lay back down flush on his knees. The paddle came down a second later on his ass and he yelped. 

“Don’t forget ‘red’, Spencer. This is a punishment but you can still stop if it’s too much. Try to take the punishment as best as you can. You won’t learn otherwise.” 

“Yes, Master, red,” he confirmed. “I’ll take it. I’m so sorr- _ow!_ One, Master.” 

He grunted in approval. “Next time you think about batting your eyes for another man, you remember how bad this hurts.”

“Two, Master. Ow! Three, Master. Ow! Four, Master.” Spencer choked out each paddle as it stung his ass. Made of some sort of cherry maple, the paddle was heavy, dense, and it stung like a bitch. “Ten, Master, ow! Eleven, Master, ow! Twelve, Master. Ow!” 

“Wherever you ran off to at night,I hope it was worth this. You’re not going to sit down without wincing for a month.” 

Professor Hotchner didn’t relent with the paddle. He kept it coming down at a steady pace, _Thwap, thwap, thwap_. Even when Spencer stopped counting, his voice going haywire, his eyes rolling back and thighs shaking, he didn’t stop. Forty came and went, then fifty, sixty, and yet he was still seething. In fact, his anger was only increasing with each swing. His hits were getting harder and harder. Spencer’s ass looked like two little tomatoes. They were starting to bruise, even. There was purple forming in the middle of each cheek where he hit the most. 

Spencer was crying. Tears were flowing down his cheeks and getting Professor Hotchner’s pant leg wet. He gave Spencer ten more hits, each more satisfying than the last, and finally his anger dissipated. Spencer was good for him. He didn’t count all the way, but he took the pain like a champ, and he took a _lot_ of hits. Possibly more than he should have given him. Guilt almost rose up in Professor Hotchner’s belly. Almost. 

“Your punishment is finished. Is there anything you want to say?”

Spencer sniffed loud, wet and snotty. “Thank you, M-Master. I’m so s-s-sorry.” 

“Good boy. I hope you’ve learned your lesson. You’re to listen to me: No more disobeying. No more sneaky behaviour. When I tell you to do something, you do it, no questions asked. I know what’s best for you, don’t you ever forget that.”

“I won't, Master, thank you. I’m so sorry I was bad. You know best. I’ll listen from now on, I promise.”

Professor Hotchner popped the cap of a bottle behind him. “It’s okay. We all have our weaknesses.” His voice was getting softer, much like Spencer was used to after. “My job is to help you with yours. I forgive you.”

“Thank you, Mast- _oh!_ ” Spencer gasped as cold lotion was spread onto his stinging ass. It burned so good, all cool and soothing. “You’re so good to me.”

“I know you can be great, Spencer. With a little bit of guidance, you could be so perfect. Such a perfect boy.” He kept spreading the lotion, first over his ass, then down the top of his thighs, and he nearly purred. 

Hotch continued on, “It’s going to sting for a while. You shouldn’t sit on your butt. Here, come lay down on your side. Put your head on my lap.” He patted the couch next to him. 

Spencer shifted so he was laying on his side, his head in his Master’s lap, with only the side of his ass burning against the couch. He closed his eyes and smiled. Following orders was easy if he let himself comply. He was a bad boy, he knew it, and he deserved the punishment. But now that he took his punishment he didn’t have to feel guilty anymore. His Master made him pay the price for his actions and all was forgiven. 

Professor Hotchner turned the tv on to a movie that he couldn’t keep his attention on. Halfheartedly, he listened to the voices, more so focused on his breathing and the feeling of fingers scratching his head. A little smile wiggled onto his lips; he was so happy. 

“Master?” he asked, tentative. 

“Yes?”

“Can I go to sleep?”

“Yes, baby. Go to sleep,” he whispered. 

Spencer hummed, falling asleep to the feeling of strong fingers scratching his head. His cock laid soft in between his legs with the metal ring still tight around it, but good boy as he was, he didn’t even notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao what's wrong with me  
> next update... maybe 12/10 cause of work


	24. HOTCH

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the last chapter Spencer came home from the conference in NY and was brought to Prof Hotch's house. He was spanked until his ass was red raw and incredibly painful. Prof Hotch gave him a new set of rules to follow and a new title to call him by.

Aaron woke up promptly at five in the morning just like every other day, except this morning he had his boy draped across his chest moving with the rise and fall of his steady breathing. Last night he carried him into the bed and let him sleep there next to him, and at some point they became entangled, wherein Spencer interlaced all of his limbs around him and held on tight. 

Three were things to do, however, and as much as he’d like to stay in bed and cuddle with his adorable little sub, he needed to stretch his legs, brush his teeth, look over some files and grade assignments.

Spencer mumbled when he drew his arm out from underneath him and he whined into the pillow. His hands grasped at the bed searching for warmth, and when he didn't find any his eyelids fluttered open revealing confused eyes. 

“Master…?” he whispered. Aaron’s heart leapt. 

“It’s time to get up, sweetheart. No lazing around in bed.” 

Spencer let out something pleading and soft, but blinked his eyes a few times before keeping them open and alert. “Yes, Sir.” 

“That’s my good boy,” Aaron said. “Get up and go into the bathroom.” 

It didn’t take long before he was on his feet, leaving Aaron impressed with his willingness today. He was starting to get jist of unquestioned obedience. In the bathroom, he was even more willing, with his head tipped in submission and his hands laced behind his back. Aaron prodded him into the shower and filed in after him, adjusting the water so it wasn’t scalding. He lathered himself up with soap and then soaped up his boy, rubbing him from head to toe with a washcloth, shampooing his hair, then rinsing and repeating with conditioner. He dried him off with a towel and left a toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, face moisturizer, shaving cream, and a razor on the counter for him. Those orders were unspoken but Spencer still bowed his head and chirped out a ‘Yes, Master’ when he left him alone in the bathroom. 

Last night’s punishment seemed to do the trick. He needed a heavy hand, that was all. Though Aaron suspected he may start to slip up again once the bruises healed and the pain faded into memory. He’d do his best to get those mannerisms imprinted as soon as he could, and hopefully they’d stick. He’d have his boy docile and begging him for everything. 

He dressed Spencer in a fresh pair of blue briefs and a white tee shirt. They were his oldest clothes and thus a bit smaller, so they mostly fit, but they were still a bit loose on his thin frame. He taught him how to cook an omelette next; Spencer never cooked much in his life. It was all microwave ramen and granola bars. He cracked the eggs, stuttered his way through a few ‘sorrys’ when he dropped shells in the mix, and looked at him with a big smile when he finally folded the thing over and it looked like a real omelette. Then he made another all by himself and they sat and ate in companionable silence. Aaron had Spencer wait until he started eating first, and then clear the dishes and wash them up when they both finished. 

He made Spencer kneel by his chair after he wiped his soapy hands on the towel. His head was tipped down to his chin, his legs a little ways apart, and his hands laced behind his back in perfect submission. 

He ran a hand through Spencer's hair. “Such a pretty boy, you know that?” he cooed. The tips of Spencer’s ears flushed red. “Such a pretty, obedient boy. You’re being so good, Spencer. So good for me. Listening so well, being so polite.”

Spencer hummed happily but he didn’t dare to speak. He knew better than that. 

“Open those pretty little lips, sweetheart.” 

Aaron slipped his thumb in Spencer’s open mouth and traced his lips with a wet finger. He scooted forward in the kitchen chair and Spencer looked up towards his chest, but, Aaron noted with a smile, not at his eyes. He pulled his cock out of his pants and motioned for Spencer to come forward with a pat on his thigh. He shuffled so he was right in between his legs, and Aaron commanded low and firm, “Suck.”

He watched Spencer take his cock in between those wet lips and slide him down his throat, licking, sucking. The blowjob was slow and deep, filled with Spencer’s whiny moans and spit dripping down his face. He pulled out and came on his lips and chin at the last moment, keeping his head still with a fist curled in his hair. 

Spencer thanked him after, and what a good boy he was. 

Gently, he leaned down to press a kiss on his forehead which he seemed to love. He easily slipped into subspace ever since Aaron got him over the initial introduction into their little play. So he sat there content on his knees with no thoughts of anything but his Master’s presence above him. Aaron stalled a few minutes, giving him enough time to bask in his post-sex buzz before getting up and heading into his office. Behind him, Spencer looked up with wide, concerned eyes at being left behind on the floor with no idea what to do. 

He beckoned him from down the hall. The sound of shuffling around floated towards him and he corrected him firmly: “No. Hands and knees. You crawl in my home.” He heard the drop back down and the padding of his palms against the tile. Spencer crawled right up to his feet, looking adorable yet sinful in his briefs and cum-covered lips. Aaron sat down at his desk and stopped Spencer from crawling in. “Uh-uh. You don’t come into my office. Stay in the doorway. Be a good boy.”

“Yes Master,” he said. Without skipping a beat he straightened his back, shuffled up to his knees, and waited. 

It took around an hour for Aaron to get through the stack of quizzes that he had to grade, during which Spencer stayed completely quiet. He was quite impressed. Spencer’s back was straight as an arrow, the rise and fall of his chest steady, and a faint shadow of a smile played on his lips. There were a few things that he wanted to get done today, but with Spencer at the house there wouldn’t be time. The garage needed to be organized so he could fit his car inside- it wouldn’t do for the neighbors to see Spencer getting out of his car. This time was a mistake- anyone could have seen- but his mind was clouded with emotion. Soon he would move all of Haley’s old things from the garage and he would be able to bring Spencer over more often. He needed stability, something that he wasn’t giving him before, treating him like a secret to be kept locked in an office or hotel room. Spencer wasn’t a dirty secret, not exactly, he was growing on him everyday. If he couldn’t be open about their arrangement, he could at least try to give him more of a secure and labeled place in his life.

The clock on the opposite side of the office showed that it was still three hours before noon, and a perfect time to take Spencer on one of the trails out back for a jog. 

At the very moment Aaron stood, Spencer’s head twitched in anticipation but he didn’t move from his spot. He walked over, trailed his finger along Spencer’s cheek and told him to follow to the bedroom. Patting the bed, he motioned for him to get up, but Spencer’s face was searching and timid, almost as if he didn’t believe that he could get up from his hands and knees on the floor. Aaron grabbed his arm, gently, and hoisted him up to sit. Spencer’s eyes roamed around the room, and Aaron felt as if his life was on display for those clever little eyes. As if Spencer were profiling him. Or perhaps not profiling, he wasn’t skilled quite like that, but _something._

“Eyes over here,” Aaron said. He snapped his fingers and Spencer brought his attention back to the clothes he was holding in his hands, a tee shirt and sweats. They were athletic looking with an FBI logo on the shirt and a stripe down the sweats. Spencer’s mouth twitched into a frown and Aaron grinned. 

“Oh, come on. It’s not that bad.” He laughed, dryly. “You’ll get you to it. Running is good for you.” 

Spencer didn’t answer. He took the clothes from his hand and put them in his lap. “May I get dressed, Master?”

“Yes, honey.” Aaron leaned down and kissed his forehead. “What size shoe are you?”

“Eleven.” 

“Perfect. You can borrow a pair of mine,” he said, going into the closet while Spencer slipped into the sweats. He brought back a black pair of Nike sneakers and set them down at Spencer's feet before kneeling in front of him. “Foot.” 

Spencer looked down at him with reddened cheeks and raised it. He slipped it on, and tied the laces up tight. “Other.”

Aaron got up and fished something out of the closet, Spencer watching him intently. When he came back, he raked his hands through Spencer’s hair and pulled it up into a stubby ponytail and wrapped a hair tie tight around it. Spencer looked at him wide-eyed. “To keep it out of your eyes. I don’t know how you let it get that long.” 

Not that he didn’t find it immensely attractive. 

He let Spencer walk on his feet when he led him out into his backyard. His property backed up to a forested area that ran a myriad of trails running through it. He instructed Spencer on how to stretch before giving him a gentle push and telling him to start running. He looked awkward and gangly, and he had to slow down in order to keep a short distance behind him. Spencer was hardly keeping the pace of a jog. 

Since it was half past nine in the morning, the sun was already in the sky and blaring down, though the heat was a bit scattered due to the treetops, but it went a long way in keeping the chilly winter air at bay. That, and the sweat that was already dripping down Spencer’s temples. By Aaron’s calculations, they’d only made it three quarters of a mile and that was barely a warm up at most, but he wouldn’t know from looking at the gasping mess in back of him. Spencer was breathing heavy and rapid. 

“Just a little bit longer,” Aaron said hegin him. 

“Can’t—” he gasped. “Can't make it.” Spencer stopped, effectively doubling over. He was wheezing, and Aaron had mercy on him. 

“It’s fine, it’s okay, it’s your first time,” he said, rubbing his hand on his back. “Big breaths, there you go. You’re fine. Just give it a minute. We’ll stop here, take a little break, but you’re going to jog back too.” 

“I don’t know- don’t know if I can.” 

“You can. I know you can. You just have to get used to it.” 

“N-no, Sir—”

“You'll be able to run a mile without breaking a sweat in no time. Trust me.”

He cleared his throat, his breathing steadying some. “Okay— okay- maybe. I mean, I do trust you, Master.” 

“Good boy.” 

Aaron gave him another 10 minutes and after that got him going again down the way that they came. He nearly collapsed back in his yard. Aawon scooped him up and carried him to the shower to scrub off all the sweat, toweled him off, put him in a big pair of joggers and a tee, and sat him down on the couch. He put the remote in his lap and went into his office only to come back at him looking worried and not having even turned on the tv. 

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“I was worried you wouldn’t come back,” Spencer whispered. 

“Of course I would. I won't leave you, sweetheart. You’re being such a good boy today. Go ahead and watch some tv. I'm going to look over some files.” He sat right up against Spencer, thighs touching, and pressed a kiss to his head. He still seemed out of sorts from his episode the other day. Unsure, afraid, and convinced he’s going to be abandoned. 

Spencer flipped through the stations idly, stopping on a National Geographic episode on honey bees. It kept his attention for a few minutes before Aaron could feel his stare. He found himself rereading the same sentence over and over again before he realized he wouldn’t be able to focus if he could feel his boy’s eyes watching him. 

“Pay attention to you show, sweetheart,” he said. 

“I’ve seen it before.”

“Then watch it again.” 

“But I already know it all.” 

“I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt to watch again, maybe you’ll learn something new.” he mumbled, his mind elsewhere.

Spencer cleared his throat, and mimicked the voice on the television word for word, “The honeybee has one-hundred-and-seventy odorant receptors which they use to recognize different type of flowers when looking for-” 

He turned to Spencer, mouth hanging open. “Okay, okay. Word for word? How many times have you watched this?” 

“Once,” Spencer replied. “Master.”

Aaron whistled. “Wow, that’s amazing. At times I forget you can do that.” It really was quite amazing, though not without its faults, and in that vein Aaron notes how careful he’ll have to be with Spencer knowing everything will be meticulously recorded. 

“S’nothing,” Spencer said, still looking over at him. “Kind of annoying. Never turns off.” 

“I’m sorry, baby.” Aaron snaked his arm around him, and pulled him close, kissing his curls. “Put something else on if you want. Or just sit there quietly.”

“Can I, uh, help you with that?” Spencer nodded at the files in front of him.

“You’re doing an awful lot of talking for a boy who I just told to be quiet and watch his show.”

Spencer scooted back and ducked his head. “Sorry, Master. M’sorry” 

“It’s okay, it’s fine,” Aaron said. “I’m looking over some cold cases. Come here. Closer.” 

Spencer scooted back. “My old unit at the FBI has a standing consult with me for cases like these, the ones that went unsolved. Just something for me to do, really. An old colleague of mine, I know he wants me to come back, so he’s trying to get me interested by sending me these. I don’t think I could, though, go back.” 

Spencer looked at him, interested. “You can speak, Spence. It’s okay for now.” 

“Thank you, Master,” he whispered. “Why couldn’t you go back? Do you miss it?” 

“I do. Most days, I do. But the risk outweighs the benefit. It took too much out of me.”

“I read…” 

Aaron shook his head. “I know. I remember. And it’s okay, it’s not impossible to talk about, just unpleasant.”

“Do you like lecturing?”

“It’s not that bad. It’s just more mellow. There’s not a lot to it. I don’t get that same sense of making a difference the way I did in the FBI. Hell, even as a prosecutor, not that I would ever do that again- the politics are much worse than the monotony of teaching.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked,” Spencer whispered.

“No, no.” Aaron squeezed his shoulder. “Did I raise my voice? I didn’t mean to do that; I’m a bit passionate about this still, I suppose. I’m glad you asked. Noone ever asks. Hell, no one comes within shooting distance of that topic. Too scared.” He looked at Spencer and frowned. “Almost makes me feel like I’m made of glass the way they avoid it. I’m stronger than that, though.” 

“I know you are, Master.” he smiled back, eyes twinkling.

“You just listen today, I’ll show you how I look these over, there’s a process. Maybe next time I’ll let you help.” He spent a couple hours teaching Spencer what he was doing and thinking, and why. It was good practice going over everything, and being able to think like a detective again. Well, an agent. A profiler. He missed it, and Rossi was nothing if not effective. 

When Spencer was dozing off, still laying against him boneless from the run, no _jog_ , he decided it was a good enough time to make lunch and had Spencer tag along into the kitchen and learn how to make more meals. They ate together, Aaron did a bit more work grading assignments in his office while Spencer sat in the doorway, and then he had Spencer clean the living room since he was kneeling for too long. Spencer dusted the furniture, vacuumed the carpet, and made sure everything was tidy. After dinner, Aaron led him, on all fours, into the bedroom and looked him up and down, deciding what he was going to do with him. 

In the closet, he pulled out a tan dildo and dangeled it in front of Spencer’s eyes. “We’re going to plug you all up tonight,” he said, with a chuckle. Spencer’s cock gave an interested twitch from behind his briefs, enough for Aaron to notice. “Eager.” 

He needed one more thing, and grabbed a plastic floor rug from his office, the type you use for chairs with wheels, and also the type you can attach a dildo with a suction cup to. He put the plastic mat down at the side of the bed and popped the dildo down onto it, making sure it was steady and sticking. He beckoned for Spencer to crawl over, and made him position himself right overtop. He looked a little nervous. 

_pop_. He squirted lube into Spencer’s hand. “Finger yourself, just one for now.” 

“Yes, Master.” Spencer reached back and stuck a finger up his ass, working it in and out, a look of embarrassment spread across his red face. Aaron then made him do two, and three. His eyes were blown and his mouth hanging open by the time he had the third finger up his ass. 

“So pretty, Spence,” Aaron cooed. “Tell me what you want.” 

“I-I want— _nnuuhhhhhgg_ Want it. Wanna fuck.” 

Aaron tsk-tsk’ed. “What do you want, little slut?” 

“Wanna fuck it!” he whined, still pumping his fingers inside himself. 

“Say it, then. Say ‘I want to ride the dildo, Master’ or I’ll say no.” 

“ _mmmmmh_ Please— I-I wanna ride the dildo, Master, please- let me—” 

“Go ahead,” he said. “Take out your fingers, lube it up, and line yourself up overtop, good boy, just like that. Now sink down on it.” 

Spencer moaned, breathy and broken. “ _Oh_ , Master— s’good.”

“Atta boy. Pick up the pace. Fuck your little ass for me.” Spencer bit his lips and bounced up and down on his knees, letting the dildo slide almost all the way out, and then right back in, all the way down to the end. He saw him wince slightly, most likely from the bruising he developed after the paddling. “Keep your eyes up here, sweetheart. Don’t look away. I want to see you.”

Spencer nodded, the dildo filling him up, and he moaned openly. There was no use in having any shame; Aaron wouldn't let him. He kept up a steady rhythm, and his cock was standing straight up, hitting against his flat stomach with each bounce. 

Aaron stood up from the bed and took off his pants and briefs. He sat back down in front of Spencer and started stroking his thick cock in front of his face. He matched Spencer’s rhythm and stroked along with him. Spencer’s eyes were still glued up to his eyes, but Aaron knew he was dying to look down at his cock; his cheek was twitching and his eyes kept fidgeting around. He grinned. 

“Don’t stop,” he instructed. He scooted closer to the edge of the bed and his cock could touch Spencer at that point. He ran the tip against his cheek and watched him squirm and whine. He slid it along his parted lips and left a line of precum behind. Spencer’s tongue darted out but just a look from him, and he squealed out an apology and stopped. He needed permission, he _knew_ that. 

He slapped him across the face, then, with his cock. It wasn’t anything that would hurt. He did look humiliated, though, and that was exactly what he was going for. He slapped him again, this time on the other cheek, then a third. His eyes were so dilated you could hardly see the amber in them at all. He roughly shoved his cock inside his mouth and started thrusting in. At first Spencer gagged, probably startled, but began to lick and suck and try to use his head to get further down. 

“Good boy, look at you, all filled up with cock. Ass and mouth stretched wide,” he growled. 

Spencer swallowed in reply, and Aaron moaned, the sensation tight and rolling. “Keep going, don’t stop fucking your tight little ass, Spence.” He looked so sweet and debauched getting fucked from all directions. Aaron wanted to dirty him up completely. 

He grabbed Spencer’s hair in his first and steadied his head as he started thrusting in his throat, fast and deep. Spencer sputtered and gasped. His thighs were shaking and spit was dripping down his chin, landing on his chest. 

“You want to cum, sweetheart?” Aaron thrust in hard. 

Spencer nodded his head with a little difficulty. He was still taking the slimy dildo up his ass over and over, nice and deep, bouncing like a good boy. Aaron waited until he loosened his jaw up enough that he could thrust his cock all the down his throat until it reached his base, and Spencer's nose was pressed up against his pubic hair, his bottom lip up against his balls. His lips and ass were both stretched wide open with cock. “Cum, little slut.” He thrust out and back again the same way, and Spencer shook underneath him, shooting out his load with his hands still gripping at his own thighs obediently, all across his own stomach, and a little bit on Aaron’s calves. 

Aaron smirked, proud and honry. “What a good boy.” He slipped his cock out, pulled him up onto his lap, and placed a kiss right on his lips. His jaw fell slack. He blushed so furiously hard, even more so than when he was made to fuck himself infront of him- he didn’t kiss Spencer nearly enough. He gave him another for good measure, pressing his lips sweetly and gently on his. 

“How’d that feel?” he whispered into his ear.

“So good, Master,” he breathed, “So, so good.” 

“That’s my little slut.” He tipped his chin up, kissed him, and laid him down on the bed. Stepping to the side, he grabbed a sharpie from the night stand. He pulled him closer, and scribbled on his chest in big capital letters, ‘COCKHOLSTER’. 

Spencer’s cock was still half-hard, red, and tired on his stomach. His eyes were still dilated, and he looked sated. Some of his hair was sticking with sweat to his forehead, his lips were wet and swollen, and his legs were parted on instinct, just waiting for him to slip in between them. Aaron started rubbing his cock, still hard and wanting from Spencer sucking him earlier and not taking his release, and he gripped Spencer’s milky white thigh with the other hand. He jerked himself off fast and tight, eyes on Spencer’s fucked out eyes and marked up chest, and he came all over it. His cum spurted out thick and hot in white ropes and landed all over Spencer’s ‘COCKHOLSTER’. He grabbed his phone from the nightstand and flashed a picture quickly. There was nothing he adored more than having pictures of his work to look back on- Spencer was breathtakingly gorgeous splayed out with his fluids and marking all over him. 

“Can I lick it, Master? Can I taste your cum?” he asked, while he was still half in a daze. He nodded his head, and Spencer wiped the cum off his chest and liked it off his fingers with a smile on his face until there was none left. “Thank you, Master.” 

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” Aaron whispered, picking him and moving the covers aside so they could get into bed. He turned off the light and slid in beside Spencer. “Shhh.” He could feel Spencer’s heart beat rapid firing against his side. “What is it, baby?” 

“Just, um, you’re letting me sleep in your bed with you. I’m happy. And nervous. Thank you, Master.”

“I let you sleep in it yesterday, too.” 

“But yesterday I was so sleepy I didn’t even notice. Now, um, we’re in bed together.” He was looking back at him so earnestly. 

“We are. Now close your eyes and stop talking. It’s your bedtime.” He pulled Spencer up to lay his head on his chest, and he felt a smile against his skin, returning it with one of his own, even if Spencer couldn’t see it. 

“Night, Master.” 

“Goodnight, baby.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you like it, leave me kudos n stuff. I think I'll have the next chapter out 12/16. My plan is to update weekly. Maybe Wed? If you guys have a preference lmk, I'll consider it. 
> 
> Anyways, hope everyone is doing okay, and please stay safe.


	25. Hotch’s House Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter Prof Hotch and Spencer spent the day at his house doing domestic stuff and he trained in a lot of new ways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I forgot I wrote this chapter lmao so even if I hinted against it, here it is

_"And stop calling me out we're never going to_

_Put the pieces back together_

_If you won't let me get better_

_And stop digging it up or we're never gonna_

_See it all in bloom.”_

―Neck Deep, In Bloom

* * *

In the morning it was a repeat of the day before, being washed by his Master, making breakfast, and giving his Master a blowjob under the table- he could get used to that. Apart from the running, though, the part that Spencer was hoping he would forget about. The only good part about the run was getting to feel Professor Hotchner soap him up again afterwards and getting to wear big comfy sweats. He didn’t make it to a mile again, but he did what he dubbed as his best possible effort, so he thought it was okay. He knew Professor Hotchner could have kept going for a while, probably even for miles and miles, so at least he wasn’t forced to do that.

When he was snuggled up on the couch against his Master’s side, his arm curled around his chest, and his leg in his lap, he pressed a kiss to his shoulder and sighed. Professor Hotchner squeezed his arm around him and pressed a kiss to his head, too. “I want to talk to you.” he said. _Uh-oh._

“Did I do something wrong?” He couldn’t think of anything that he did wrong. He was thinking about everything that he did first; he was being _very_ careful. 

“No sweetheart, it’s about the conference.” 

“Oh…” Breath caught in his throat. He didn’t want to talk about the conference. That was a lot of bad memories. A _lot_. 

“Be a big boy, Spence. You made some bad decisions and you have to face them. That man that you punched, for instance. Do you have any idea what’s going to happen about that?”

“Um, no…” 

“You haven’t thought about it at all?” 

Spencer cleared his throat, feeling nervous, like there was something he should know, but didn’t. “No…” 

“You could have been arrested, Spencer, that’s serious. I know you’re used to getting your way on campus, but I wouldn’t have been able to help you, or at least not to the extent that it would matter. You’d have marks on your record at the very least. Think of how many doors that would close for you, career-wise.” 

“I wasn’t thinking about that at the moment… Lila… I needed to help her. I didn’t have any choice.” 

“He wasn’t going to hurt her, Spence. You were having a panic attack. I talked to her that night, they were discussing the lecture. You scared her. And I spoke with Dr. Nelson. I asked him not to press charges and he agreed.” 

“You did?” he gulped. “I, fuck, thank you, I’m sorry.” 

“No cursing, Spence.” 

“Sorry, Master,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean… I didn’t mean to do all that. I thought I was doing the right thing. I was really upset. I couldn’t think straight. You...”

“I made you upset, didn’t I?” he frowned.

Spencer looked down at his lap, feeling ashamed. “Yes.” 

Professor Hotchner remained silent, and Spence spoke up again. “You were threatening me… I felt so overwhelmed. You w-were yelling and taking Oliver’s card from me when I didn’t even do anything wrong, grabbing me, and that, uh, plug was still inside me, I couldn’t… I couldn’t handle all of it at once.” 

“I shouldn’t have done that. I should have realized you were getting upset.” He sighed, stroking Spencer’s arm. “I’ve been thinking about it, Spence. I can get possessive, I’ll admit that. When I saw you with Dr. Owens I went off. I was seeing red. I didn’t want what was mine to be taken from me.” 

“It was scary…” 

“I won’t do that again. I’ll try not to. I know I have anger issues. I’ve gone to anger management back when I worked in the BAU, after everything that happened. Perhaps I should start again.” He pulled him even closer, now sitting half in his lap, and he caressed his face gently. “Spencer?” 

“Yes, Master?”

“I’m very sorry.” 

Spencer smiled, hugging him back. “Me too.” 

Professor Hotchner pulled away and looked at him with a stern expression. “I was surprised you ran away, though. Where did you go? I have a good idea, but I want to hear it from you.” 

Spencer couldn't meet his eyes anymore. Admitting this part wasn’t going to be easy, for all he knew Professor Hotchner was going to disown him and never touch him ever again. That would be a travesty. He couldn’t lie, though. He _promised_ he wouldn’t. And his Master would see right through him. “Um… I was with Oliver. I mean Dr. Owens. He let me s-stay with him,” he said, his voice wavering. “Double beds.” 

Professor Hotchner closed his eyes and sighed deeply. “I don’t like that you did that. I guess I didn’t give you much of a choice.” 

“You stole from me…” Spencer whispered. “While I was having a panic attack… you stole from me.” 

“I own you, Spencer, you know, you’re mine. That means what’s yours is mine. I’m sorry I tricked you, but I’m not sorry I took it.” 

Spencer picked at his fingers. “I memorized the number anyway.” 

“That’s not the point. I didn’t want you talking to him.” 

“Well, I did, and I like him. He’s just like me. He’s young and intelligent and he’s gone through everything I have. I don’t like him like I like you. I like you differently. I like him as a friend, and that’s _it_ I swear.” 

“That’s exactly why I was so upset, seeing you realize that. I’ve known Dr. Owens for a while now. He used to do some consulting with the BAU. Just a few times, but I could see all the ways you two would hit it off. I got a bit carried away.”

“Can I still talk to him, Master?”

“If you ask my permission first, you may.” 

Spencer let out a sigh he didn’t even realize he was holding. Both Professor Hotchner’s approval and Oliver’s friendship meant the world to him and he didn’t want to choose between one or the other. “Thank you.” 

“Oh, Master…” He gulped. He almost forgot. “There’s one more thing… don’t be mad?”

Professor Hotchner tensed beside him, looking him hard in the eyes. 

“I told Ethan… because I didn’t have any other excuse, I _swear_ , because he kept asking about what I was hiding, and where I was going, and who I was seeing, and I didn’t have any good answer for him because I couldn’t explain being with hotels with you, I’d never tell him I was seeing you, I swear, but, uh.” 

“Spit it out, Spence.” 

“I, um, I t-told him that Oliver was my boyfriend,” he squeaked. “He saw him at the hotel when he picked me up and he wanted an explanation why he had to drive _five_ hours to get me. I told him we had a fight and I had to leave… I hate lying to him. I’m sorry. Don’t be mad at me, please?”

Professor Hotchner frowned, the line on his face becoming deeper and more menacing. “Your boyfriend?”

Spencer buried his face in his hands. “I’m sorry!”

“You don’t get a boyfriend,” he said, his voice cold. “You don’t have a boyfriend. Tell Ethan you broke up with him.”

“But it’s the only way I can explain… I mean I can tell him, I didn’t like lying anyway, but where will I tell him I’m going then?” 

“I’ll figure it out, but you are not to pretend that Dr. Owens is your boyfriend, are we clear?” 

“Yes, Master.” His lip quivered. “We’re c-clear.” 

“I’m not mad.” He smoothed his hair down behind his ear. “I understand why you did that. Make sure you follow the rules from now on, and I’ll take care of everything else. I’ll take care of you.”

Spencer closed his eyes, leaned into his hand, and nodded. He could do that.

. . . 

His Master let him stay for dinner, and then drove him back to the dorms for classes the next day. Spencer spent what time he did have left at his house begging and whining and trying to convince him to touch him and fuck him while he still had the chance. Professor Hotchner obliged, and Spencer got fucked over the back over the couch, on the floor in his office that he wasn’t even supposed to be in, and against the counter while they made dinner. It still wasn’t enough, and he made big puppy dog eyes at him the entire drive back that he purposely ignored.

He was sent off with a kiss on the lips and a pat on the butt, and then it was back to normal. No more surreal fairytale where he gets to play house with his Master and gets railed whenever he wants. Well, whenever Professor Hotchner wanted. But Professor Hotchner wanted to often, so it was almost the same thing. He was going to miss waking up next to him even if he only experienced it a few times. There was nothing more satisfying than opening his eyes to a brawny chest and strong arm wrapped around him protectively. 

Inside the dorm, Ethan was on the couch, talking on the phone, and Spencer gave him a nod before taking his things into his room. He put away all of his clothes and toiletries, then the light reading that he packed. Since knowing Professor Hotchner he was getting a little bit neater. Just last year, he would have thrown everything into the corner of the room and dealt with it later, but now everything had to be put away. He opened up the suitcase from the conference and got to work on it. 

Well, maybe he did procrastinate since he didn’t put it away when he came back home the first time, but he wasn’t back all that long before Professor Hotchner had him cover over. So, it was really his first opportunity, if you thought about it.

Down at the bottom of his suitcase he grabbed a plastic bag. The buttplug was inside. He forgot about the buttplug. He picked up the corner of the baggie and looked at it. Such a little piece of plastic, yet it held so much power. In the bathroom he washed it again and put it in a new baggie because germs. Then he stuffed it in the back of his closet inside a pair of boots that he never wore. 

He looked at the clock, eight pm. He had an hour to explain to Ethan where he was and tell him about the ‘break up’. Or, he could do it in the morning. The morning sounded better, but he needed to rip it off like a band-aid before he lost his nerve. 

“Hey, E?” Spencer stood at the edge of the living room, barely poking his head out from behind the wall.

“One sec,” he said, saying something Spencer couldn’t hear into his phone, and closing it. “What’s up?”

“I wanted to thank you again for the other day.” 

“I’m just glad you finally opened up, man.” Ethan sighed. 

Spencer walked over to the couch, looking at Ethan’s relieved face. “I’m sorry about that too. I was going through a lot. It’s not like I didn’t want to tell _you_ , I just didn’t want to tell _anyone_.” 

“I get that.” He looked like he was debating something in his head- he could be very thoughtful when he wanted to. He was a great friend and always looking for ways to be there for him, understand him. It was something Spencer usually needed. Now, though, he didn’t want to be fully understood. Ethan spoke up again, “We gotta stick together, though, you know? Best friends. We’ve been through some shit together. Remember when you ‘accidentally’ insulted that girl at that pep rally last year? God, she really mauled you. And her boyfriend, damn. He wasn’t gentle. I had your back, though. I’ve got the scar to prove it!” He lifted up his hand, a white line showing under his knuckle, going to the wrist. “I’m always gonna be there for you no matter what. Even if you don’t think I will be, I will. Oh- and I still don’t believe that you didn’t know ‘bougie’ was an insult. No way.”

“Hey! I didn’t know. How was I supposed to know that?” He groaned. “But, me too. I mean, if you needed me to, I’d have your back.” 

Ethan smiled. “Thanks, Spence.”

“I mean it. I’ve been a bad friend lately. Not that I have a lot of practice, you were right, people just don’t like me very much, but I’ll try harder.” 

“Ah, dude, shit, I’m sorry I said those things. I didn’t mean it. Well, maybe a little, but not in a bad way, you know? You’re just different. Makes you you. I like how you are and I was a fucking asshole to make you feel bad about it. I was frustrated.”

“It’s cool, really. I know how I am.” Spencer shuffled around the couch and sat down “There’s one more thing… Oliver and I broke up.” 

“Fuck, dude. You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I don’t really want to talk about it, though.”

“Okay. So, you wanna watch a movie or something? Die Hard just came on, it’s only 10 minutes in.”

Spencer leaned back, kicking his feet up on the ottoman. “Nah, it’s-” He glanced over at the clock, 8:35. “It’s late, I have to get up early. I’m gonna pass out at nine.” 

Ethan huffed, and turned the volume up. “Your loss.” 

Spencer rolled his eyes and enjoyed the silence between and the sounds of Mclane growling on the tv. Fifteen minutes later, he brushed his teeth and went to bed, but not before sending Professor Hotchner a goodnight text.

. . . 

Monday morning was harder than it should have been. First of all, Spencer’s alarm was unnecessarily loud and super early. Then on top of that, he had to fish out his sneakers from the back of his closet and run around outside like a lunatic, or a health nut, and he didn’t even get to be soaped down by his Master afterwards, and that was the best part.

He did wear nice comfy sweats, though, and decided to take all of his things to the library after, so it wasn’t that bad after the first hour or two. He texted Professor Hotchner a picture of his sneakers when he went on the run just for proof, because honestly he was surprised that he even did it at all, and okay, he was a little bit proud. 

At the library, he took up an entire table just for himself. His books and papers were spread all over and he went through all of his course materials. Unlike regular students, he was taking a mixture of higher post-grad classes and lower level entry classes since he was working towards his phD as well as his psych undergrad. After this semester ended, he only had one more left before he could get in front of the capstone committee and defend his dissertation. After that, he’d be a Doctor. A real certified Doctor. Not bad for a kid who used to get shoved in lockers. 

Most of the day passed at the library, he almost forgot to eat, then he hightailed it over to his lecture, and after that back to sleep. The entire week passed by just the same; waking up way too early, running, studying, and begging Professor Hotchner to touch him. His Master was mostly hands off in class, though, and after class in his office he was only going to far as blowjobs, never as far as penetrative sex. It was infuriating, and Spencer was itching for more. He wanted Professor Hotchner to buy a hotel already and fuck him senlesless, fuck all of his stress and his worries away; make him feel weightless and wanted. 

He wanted to get down on his hands and knees and crawl around for him. He wanted to do it naked. He wanted to feel the weight of a ball gag between his lips, and the sting of a palm smacking his ass. Hell, he’d even take a cockring at this point. The bruises on his butt were halfway healed, not hurting nearly as much as they did a week ago, and even those he was getting a bit sad to see go. At least those reminded him of his Master’s passion and the way that he felt so possessive about him. In the back of his mind, somewhere, really far away, he knew that being possessed wasn’t healthy, but it felt really, _really_ good to be wanted like that. He liked being Professor Hotchner’s. 

His property. 

His boy. 

His, his, _his._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh, here it is. Next chap 12/23
> 
> I completely forgot I wrote out this conversation lmao


	26. The Desk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter Spencer had a talk with Professor Hotchner and with Ethan, neither or which was very productive. While Prof Hotch acknowledged his panic attack, he still ascertained that Spencer was his to do with as he pleased, and Ethan only got a bunch more lies, not the truth he was looking for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FOR CUEONEGO BECAUSE DESK

_“Gaze into her killing jar_

_I'd sometimes stare for hours_

_She even poked the holes so I can breathe."_

―My Chemical Romance, The Jetset Life Is Gonna Kill You

* * *

Two weeks later, on a Thursday, Spencer found himself sitting in the front row of Professor Hotchner’s class. They were learning a section that he already read and memorized, so instead of listening, he sat with his head propped up in his hand, his mind wandering elsewhere. Professor Hotchner had him dress in a blue button down and black slacks that morning, the ones that were just a little bit too snug, and it wasn’t helping one bit with what was going on inside of them. 

Professor Hotchner was extremely attractive talking to a room full of people. He was in control, assertive, and completely at ease being the lead. If only he would start barking out things that were a little _bit_ more sexual… 

Spencer shook his head and straightened his back; his head was filling with dirty images and he was getting harder by the minute. No no avail, he crossed his legs, tried to focus- something about social cognition? The way Professor Hotchner was leaning against the desk up front, though, the one he’s bent him over so many times, _ah_ , focusing was near impossible. 

And _surely_ he knew what he was doing, running his hand down his thigh like that? Just a few more inches to the right, he was so close, so very close, to rubbing up against, oh, did Professor Hotchner have a bulge in his pants too? God, he had such a big, thick, cock, and was under there right at that very moment. Spencer just wanted to drop down from his desk, crawl over, and beg for a taste. 

“Are you paying attention, Reid?” A voice cut into his thoughts all of the sudden. Or at least what felt like all of the sudden. Spencer must have been staring and not listening at all. Everyone was staring, he must have said it a few times by then. 

“Um, yes, Sir,” said Spencer. Some of the students laughed in the back. 

Professor Hotchner walked over to him in the front row and looked down. “Are you sure about that?” The look in his eye was scandalous. He didn’t know what he had in store for him, but it wasn’t good, and he thought that he probably should have paid attention after all. 

“No, Sir,” he squeaked out. It was so low he was sure Professor Hotchner was the only one who could hear it. Either way, it didn’t matter, because Spencer’s sole focus was Professor Hotchner and his crotch pressed up against the side of his desk; no one else in the room was even registering. Just cock and that amazing smell that was his Master, all musky and sexy, like whiskey and leather, fuck.

His tongue felt big in his mouth, and if he wasn’t careful, he was going to start drooling everywhere. Maybe Professor Hotchner would be proud; he’s developed a pavlovian response to his cock. Itchy fingers wanted to take the zipper down, and knees begged to be on the floor, too. And there was _no _way that Professor Hotchner wasn't doing it on purpose. No, he knew exactly what he was doing, and Spencer was sure that underneath that stoic face there was a huge shit-eating grin.__

__Instead of ripping up up out of his chair by the back of his shirt collar and bending him over the desk for everyone to gape at, he started asking him about the lesson, and thank God for the fact that he could go back in his mind and reread the text in two seconds flat because his voice was _deadly._ Plus, he wanted to impress him. Or at the very least just get the answers right. Because as long as he was down there drilling him, he could be so, _so_ close to his cock and the way that he kept moving his hips and flaunting it. It had grown considerably bigger, the bulge, and then Professor Hotchner’s hand was down on his thigh again, _oh my god_ , and please, _please_ , just _touch_ it— Spencer felt so hot he was considering ripping off his cardigan and maybe unbuttoning his dress shirt too. His face must have been red. It was nearing a hundred degrees in the room, and he couldn’t cool down. Plus, his own erection was pushing up against his tight slacks, asking for more room but not getting any, sending shivers down his spine. Ah, that hand, moving, please, just a little bit more!_ _

__He could see the outline of the Hotch’s tip all heavy and thick against his thigh, and then _no!_ He walked back to the front of the classroom leaving him sitting there hot, bothered, and so very horny to the point where he wanted to cum in his pants. He would _never,_ though, not in a million years, cum without his Master’s permission. Not after last time when he was made to cum over and over and over again as punishment until his cock was like one big exposed nerve. God, he was so sensitive even the air hurt him. No, he was obedient now, a good boy, so he closed his eyes and thought about math problems until he wasn't dangerously close to the edge anymore. _ _

__Then Professor Hotchner smirked at him from across the room; damnit! He knew _exactly_ what he was doing.__

__. . ._ _

_  
_Professor Hotchner beckoned him to his office after class. Spencer locked the door behind him and sank to his knees, already buzzing with arousal. He hoped that his Master wouldn’t do too much foreplay today because he wanted his cock, and he wanted it _now_._   
_

__“Come,” he commanded. He was pointing to the spot in directly front of him. Spencer crawled forward and looked up. He loved looking at Professor Hotchner from down low on the floor, it made the butterflies in his stomach go crazy. “Off. Now.” He pinched the fabric of Spencer’s shirt between his fingers and tugged. Spencer slid the button up over his head and then started at his slacks. He was left in just his boxers feeling so right._ _

__There were hands all over his face, caressing his chin and cheekbones, a thumb sliding over his bottom lip. He closed his eyes and felt it all. So soothing. Then there was a pressure against his lips and he opened up, taking in the head of his Master’s cock, smiling as much as he could with his mouth open wide. He loved the heavy weight against his tongue and the taste that he could only describe as sex. He clasped his hands together behind his back and started bobbing his head back and forth, getting the cock all spit-slick and hard._ _

__He was straining to keep his eyes open and attentive on Profesor Hotchner in front of him, and the tears were starting to well up at the corner of his eyes; he wasn’t sad, not even a little bit, but the physical sensation of having something shoved down his throat always brought that response forward. He could get technical about it, could even name the ducts responsible, but with his Master’s cock was down his throat it was no time to think about such things. It wasn’t time to think about anything._ _

__His Master’s hand grabbed at his hair and steadied him. He started thrusting in and going even further down than Spencer could manage by himself, leading him to start sputtering and gagging, but he held on. He was a good boy, a good little cock sucker, and he’d take it all without complaint. Professor Hotchner thrust in again, hard, and he moaned from the back of his throat. Professor Hotchner bit his lip above him, a low groan emanating from him, and Spencer’s cock twitched with need._ _

__He was thrusting in hard and fast when there was a knock at the door. _Knock, knock, knock.__ _

__Then a twisting of the door knob, but thank _god_ Spencer was on his game and locked that damned thing. _ _

__“One second!” barked out Professor Hotchner, his voice hoarse._ _

__“I wanted to talk to you about the last draw-up of the final exams, it’s Professor Hayward,” they said from the other side of the door._ _

__His Master looked at him on the floor, nacked except for his briefs, red faced and spit dripping down his chin, and he groaned. He grabbed his hair at the back of his neck and pulled him forward. “I can’t have a student in here with the door locked. Under the desk, _now,”_ he whispered. “And keep quiet.”_ _

__He tossed his clothes in after him, and Spencer could hear him opening the door and letting in Professor Hayworth._ _

__“Come in, Professor,” he said._ _

__“Thank you.” Spencer heard the chair squeak. “Door locked during office hours? Are you busy?”_ _

__Spencer privately thought that was a better question to ask while he was still behind the door, but his Master sat down in his chair, and he lost all train out thought with his crotch up in his face. His tasty, hard cock, throbbing and wet with his spit, right _there_ under his pants. Just waiting for him to finish it off, my god, he just wanted to finish what he started, it wasn’t _fair!__ _

__“It’s fine, I just had some work I needed to focus on. You said this was about the finals?”_ _

__“Yes, the final draft is set to be reviewed, we just need you and one other professor to sign off on the changes since the last revision. Everything is nearly set for next month, the schedules are decided, everything is running smoothly. It’s just this,” Spencer heard papers being slid across the top of the desk. “That needs review.”_ _

__Spencer leaned forward and rested his head against his Master’s thigh, inhaling long. _Sex._ So musky and good. He rubbed his cheek against his slacks and bit back a moan. He was on his knees and in the perfect position to—_ _

__“You can go over it now, if you’d like. Actually, that would be best. We have to hand this into the board tomorrow and my next stop is Professor Avery’s office for her signature.”_ _

__Professor Hotchner let out a sigh of displeasure, Spencer could read them easily now, and he felt compelled to bow his head and apologize but it wasn’t him that he was sighing at, he knew that. Instead he turned his head and pressed his mouth up against the bulge in his pants and smelled again. Professor Hotchner twitched underneath him._ _

__“These all look fine to me so far.”_ _

__Spencer licked the material and Professor Hotchner twitched again. His breath was hot and wet against his pants and he wanted more. His bulge was getting bigger and harder and he knew his Master was turned on. He wanted to beg for it but he had to be quiet._ _

__“Here, take a look at number 35,” Professor Hotchner said. “The conclusion that the student should come to isn’t represented by the answer that’s chosen.”_ _

__There was sliding of paper against the desk, and then Professor Hotchner’s hand was down under the desk and pulling down his zipper! Spencer grabbed at his cock so fast. It was still wet with his spit and he ran his hands along it, pumping slow. He couldn’t wait, he didn’t want to tease, he just wanted to feel it in his mouth, and he sank down instantly._ _

__“Well, Professor, this one is one of the main fundamentals that’s outlined in the text, they should come to this-” Professor Hayward started._ _

__“My apologies, no you’re right,” Professor Hotchner said, taking the papers back. “My head was elsewhere.”_ _

__“Quite alright!” he replied. “Say, Hotchner, why is there a backpack in here?”_ _

__Spencer couldn’t hear with his mind so focused on the cock he was pulsing deep down his throat._ _

__“Hm? Oh, a student left that in here yesterday. Hasn’t been back to pick it up yet.”_ _

__Professor Hayward chuckled. Spencer swallowed against the cock and fought a moan. “Well, if they want their work, they’ll be back.”_ _

__Professor Hotchner made a grunt in agreement, Spencer wished it was him who made him make that noise, and then he spoke up again. “This looks fine. Where’s the signoff sheet?”_ _

__Spencer plunged forward and loosened up his jaw, deepthroating as best as he could. Professor Hotchner was signing off, and Professor Hayworth’s chair squeaked again._ _

__“Thank you, Professor. I’ll email you the finals schedule some time tomorrow.” Then the door shut, and Spencer moaned deliriously._ _

__“Such a good boy, being so quiet,” Professor Hotchner said, his voice nearly breaking. He bucked his hips up and made Spencer gag. “You’re so good for me, Spence, so obedient and so pretty, my little fuck toy.”_ _

__Spencer keened, moaning shamelessly, and ran his tongue along the underside of his cock. Professor Hotchner pulled his cock from his mouth and Spencer whined, looking at him with big eyes. “Tongue out,” he ordered._ _

__Spencer stuck out his tongue and waited. Professor Hotchner was pumping himself and biting his lip, and then Spencer felt warm spurts running down his cheeks and the salty bitterness of cum on his tongue. He came all over his face; Spencer adored the feeling._ _

__“Cauhn ehh tasffe Mfter,” he tried to say with his tongue still out. He wouldn't taste his Master’s cum without his permission._ _

__Professor Hotchner nodded his head and smiled. “Yes, sweetheart, go ahead, you deserve it.”_ _

__Spencer immediately closed his mouth and swallowed, and then licked his lips with a moan._ _

__Professor Hotchner got up and locked the door, then made him get dressed and wipe the rest of the cum off his face before he pulled him onto his lap and kissed his cheek._ _

__“I’m taking you to my house after classes today. When you’re finished, come to my office. I’ll drive you back in the morning.”_ _

__“Really?” Spencer smiled a dazzling smile, then threw his arms around his neck. “Thank you!”__

__. . ._ _

_  
_Around four in the afternoon, Spencer was finishing up Philosophy, something he was taking just for fun, when his cell buzzed in his back pocket._   
_  


__**Remember me? O.** _ _

__He got halfway through writing out a reply when his fingers stilled on the keyboard. He should _really_ ask his Master before sending that. For a second, he felt panicked thinking about what he almost did and how that could have led to a very painful punishment. _ _

__**Master my I ask a Q? s.** _ _

__**Yes. H.** _ _

__**um. dr. Owens jst txtd me. am I allwd 2 answr? s.** _ _

__**Good boy for asking. Yes, you have my permission. Keep it brief. H.** _ _

__**thnk u Master <3 s.** _ _

__“Ah,” Spencer typed out his text so fast he surprised himself by tacking a heart onto the end of it, his breath catching after he pressed send. He was getting too good at texting. He silently cursed himself. When Professor Hotchner didn’t respond, he wasn’t sure if he was more glad or sad._ _

__**of crse I rmbr. hey, Oliver S.** _ _

__**Just making sure! Genius like you probably has a lot on his mind O.** _ _

__**oh pls! I cld sy the sme abt u S.** _ _

__**Haha. Well I was texting you because I’ll be down in DC next weekend for business. O.** _ _

__**Cool! S.** _ _

__**I thought we could meet up? O.** _ _

___uh oh._ He really wanted to see Oliver but there was no way he would be allowed._ _

__**Master… cn I hng w him nxt wknd? Pls? s.** _ _

__**No. H.** _ _

__**Please? s.** _ _

__**No. Don’t ask again. H.** _ _

__

__**Spencer, you still there? Did I scare you away? O.** _ _

__**Srry! Im here. I cnt… im bsy S.**_ _

__**Oh, okay. Well if your plans change, let me know! O.** _ _

__**ok S.**_ _

__

__**Ys sir. srry. :( s.** _ _

__**I’ll see you soon. H.** _ _

__There had to be some sort of way to convince Master to let him see Oliver. People like Oliver didn’t come around that often. He wasn’t like Ethan- Ethan couldn’t understand him like Oliver could. He had to hold on to Oliver as tight as he could and hope that Professor Hotchner didn’t pry him off. If Professor Hotchner did make him give Oliver’s friendship up… would he do it? Could he do it? He wanted _both_. There was no good answer in choosing between his Master and Oliver. _ _

__Slowly, he ran his hand through his hair and groaned. Thank God it was Thursday; the weekend couldn't come fast enough. And thank God he would be getting fucked tonight. Or at least he hoped he would. And if he did, he hoped to God that he would be allowed to cum._ _

__He showed up to Professor Hotchner’s office a half hour later since he had to walk all the way across campus, and stopped to talk to Penny. (who chased after him when she saw him through the window of the student center) She begged him to come over to her dorm over the weekend, but he told her that he’d have to get back to her. She went away, but only after making him promise to let her know._ _

__Once inside the office he locked the door and dropped to his knees like it was second nature. Professor Hotchner came over and ran his hand along his chin, and he leaned into it with his eyes closed. He knelt down and pressed a kiss to his forehead and put something in his hand. He felt it, it was a set of keys, and Professor Hotchner said, “Those are my car keys. Go wait in my car for me. I’ll be out in a little while. I don’t want anyone to see us walking out together.”_ _

__Spencer nodded. He waited until his Master stood back up and then got up himself. “Now, Sir?”_ _

__“Yes, go now,” he replied, and slapped him on the ass. Spencer blushed and exited his office._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, thanks for the kudos, the comments, and the general awesomeness that everyone in the Hotchreid ship gives off. Truly the best peeps for the best pairing. 
> 
> Next chap is... next week!


	27. You're My Compass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chap Spencer sucked off prof hotch under this desk while prof hotch talked to another proffer about the schedule for finals.

_"Darkness bound them closer than light.”_

― Orson Scott Card, Speaker for the Dead

* * *

Back at Professor Hotchner’s house, which still made his stomach all warm and tingly to think about, he was led inside and stripped down to his boxers again as soon as he walked in. That, and he was made to get on all fours like an obedient little puppy, so he followed his Master into the living room by trailing behind him and sighing once they got there, because the soft carpet was so much better on his knees than the hardwood in the foyer. 

“Be a good boy and face the wall. Don’t make a peep, I’ll be back to get you soon.”

Spencer looked over at the wall, then back to Professor Hotchner and gulped. “Yes, Master.” He crawled over and kneeled, looking at nothing but the wall, and began waiting. There was no telling how long he would be, but he hoped it wouldn’t be hours. In reality, he would wait as long as it took. Days, even. Never again would he make the mistake of going against what his Master said. 

Luckily, he heard him come back after what felt like an hour, with anticipation buzzing through him as his footsteps came up close, then right behind him. It took every ounce of willpower to keep his face forward and his hands behind his back instead of leaping up and kissing him or glomming onto his calf and rubbing his face against his thigh. 

“You did very well,” he said. “Follow me.” 

Spencer dropped down again to his hands and crawled after Professor Hotchner. It was tricky as he went up the stairs, but not tricky enough to make him stumble. Spencer had a proud smile on his face when he made it all the way up. Then, he was led into his Master’s bedroom. _Yay._

“Up to your feet, sweetheart,” he said. 

Spencer stood up. It almost felt wrong. Professor Hotchner nudged him backwards making him sit on the bed. 

“I have something for you.” He looked down at his with smoky brown eyes that danced with something undefinable. 

“What, Master?” He couldn’t help the awe that seeped into his voice. _A present?_ He never gets presents, not ever. His hands fidgeted eagerly in his lap. 

“A gift for you,” he said vaugely, looking him in the eye. “If you’d like it.”

His reply was instantaneous. “I want it!”

“Okay, shh. Let me show you first, and then you can make up your mind.” 

Spencer nodded, though he knew he wouldn’t have to make up his mind if it was already made. Anything that Professor Hotchner wanted to give him, gift him, he wanted. It felt like heaven on Earth to him. He was thinking about him enough to go out of his eway to buy him something. Professor Hotchner brought out a black box from on top of the dresser and Spencer swung his feet happily against the side of the bed, a shy smile playing on his lips.

What a nice box. He bet it had something nice inside. 

“It’s special, and it’s just for you.” Professor Hotchner sat down next to him. The bed dripped and warmth radiated off him. Spencer leaned in unconsciously. Gently, Professor Hotchner put the box in his hands and kissed his cheek. He blused, and opened the box up. 

Inside was a silver necklace with a round compass charm. 

“Wow…” Spencer gasped in reverence. He went to reach for it, but Professor Hotchner swatted his hand away. 

“No, no,” he tutted. “This is a special necklace. Do you know why?”

Spencer shook his head. 

“I wanted to get you something that would represent our bond. Our very _special_ bond. It’s a way to remember who you belong to, and what it means to you.”

“It’s a compass.” Spencer’s eyes were still glued to the shiny silver. 

Professor Hotchner gently grabbed Spencer’s chin to tilt up, so he would look him in the eyes. “Because I guide you. You listen to me. _I’m_ your compass.”

Spencer but his lip, his eyes twinkling. “That’s- that’s so-” his heart was beating fast and hard in his chest, and he thought that this must be what love felt like. “Oh, god. I want it. Please?” 

“You accept it, and you submit yourself to me. Symbolically, it’s akin to a collar. A pretty one you can wear in public. Do you want to wear my collar, Spence?”

Spencer nodded rapidly. “Yes, yes, yes. Master. _Please.?_ ”

Professor Hotchner smiled, and Spencer’s heart leapt into his throat. He took the necklace out and Spencer turned around to let him get a better angle. As he hooked it around his neck, something inside bloomed bright and wonderful, and then his Master brought him into a tight, suffocating hug. 

“Thank you, Master. I’m so happy to be yours,” he whispered against his chest. 

“I’m happy you’re mine too, sweetheart,” he cooed, pulling back and kissing him on the lips. “Such a perfect boy. My perfect young man.”

Spencer moaned, opened mouthed into the kiss and gave himself over to his Master. Professor Hotchner pulled him up into his lap and pulled down his boxers, then his own pants. He trailed kisses down Spencer’s neck, sucking on the skin at his collarbone, and yanked off his own shirt. 

Thrusting down against his Master’s cock, he wiggled about so he was straddling him. His breathing came out heavy and labored. He never felt so happy and perfect in his whole life. Professor Hotchner grabbed at his hips and pulled him flush against him, then smacked his ass making him gasp. The bruises from his last punishment all but healed and he was still being a good boy. 

Professor Hotchner grabbed a bottle of lube from the nightstand and slicked himself up before telling him to position himself over his cock. Spencer obeyed with needy eyes and felt his tip up against his hole, just waiting for his Master to tell him to start riding. Somehow, he never rode a cock before, but he’d seen it in porn and he was so ready to try it out. 

“Go ahead, baby, take it in,” he cooed, “All of it.” and Spencer let out a deep moan as he sunk down on his throbbing cock. He was already loosened up from all the regular sex they had that he was almost always ready to go, but it still stretched him with a slight burn. Steadily, he built up a rhythm until he was bouncing up and down on his cock, using his shoulders for leverage, and crying out loudly.

Professor Hotchner had one hand on his hip, and the other grabbing his ass cheek, and it made his cock feel harder than ever. Everything about this position drove Spencer wild. He could see Professor Hotchner ’s dark and handsome face right in front of him; it was the closest they’d ever been during sex. He could kiss his lips, smell his aftershave. Plus, Spencer was in control, setting the pace, actually doing the fucking for once. It felt like a _dream._ A wet dream, but a dream nonetheless. 

Keeping up the pace, the bed slightly rocking, the sound of skin slapping down on skin and moans filling the air, Professor Hotchner’s breathing started getting ragged and tense. He slid his hand up from Spencer’s ass to the back of his neck and twirled his finger around the chain of the necklace, gripping it tight. Spencer threw his head back, letting himself get lost in the moment. He didn’t care if he fell completely apart; he was loving every second of it. 

He kept riding Professor Hotchner until- _fuck-_ unitl he hit that sweet spot, and cried out. He angled it just right and kept fucking himself to feel his Master’s cock brush up against his prostate. He was going to _fall apart._ Moaning loudly, he dug his fingers into Professor Hotchner ’s shoulders. “Please Master, please please please, please, let me cum, please please-” 

“Cum, Spence,” he growled up against his ear, for once giving him his release. 

He was so merciful. Spencer let go and came all over his stomach and his Master’s, then felt the warm wetness inside him that was his sweet reward filling him up. 

“So good for me, Spence. You rode my cock so well,” he purred. He stood up, taking Spencer with him like a ragdoll, and laid him back down on the bed. Spencer was letting himself be manhandled, not that he had much of a choice in the after anyway, having already given himself in his entirety to his Master, and looking up at Professor Hotchner with blown out eyes. So dark and handsome and fit, and he was _his_ Master. All his. 

“Don’t move.” He brought a washcloth from the bathroom to clean him up, and Spencer smiled as he wiped him. He scooted in beside him and laid his head down on his chest feeling like everything was right in the world. 

“Daddy’s got you,” he whispered. 

Spencer yelped, overjoyed, and squeezed him so tight he worried he might upset him, but he only laughed. He scooted up and nuzzled his face into the crook of his neck and breathlessly moaned out, “Dadddddddy.”

“Mm. Tell Daddy how much you liked taking his cock.”

“I love it, Daddy, I love it so much. I think about it all the time. Feels s’good” 

“That’s my needy boy. Such a little slut.” 

Spencer whined up against his skin, and he felt Professor Hotchner shiver. 

“Daddy’s going to hold you for a little bit. Then I’ll make you dinner, baby.”

He smiled. “Thank you, Daddy, you’re so good to me.” 

Later, they had dinner together. Professor Hotchner made Spencer’s favorite, chicken tandoori, which he assured him wasn’t that hard to make after he made a fuss about going through too much effort. But he _must_ have made the effor, Spencer thought, or else why would he already have naan bread in his house? He thought it was delicious, though, and privately keened at the domestic image of Professor Hotchner cooking for him. 

After, they took a shower together and watched a movie until nine o’clock, which was his bed time. Master got him in bed and kissed him, and tried to leave, but Spencer begged for his Daddy to sleep with him, and he relented, finally scooting in beside him and spooning him. Spencer slept instantly with a satisfied smile and his Master’s strong arms around him.

. . . 

Spencer spent the next week studying for finals. They were coming up fast, and even having genius level intellect he still wanted to cram until the last second. There weren’t any late nights spent holed up in the library, unfortunately, (he loved the extra-quiet feeling of the library at night) because he honored his bedtime and the ungodly act of running every morning. (which, by the way, he was getting quite better at- he almost had a mile down pat)

He had until the end of the month to brush up on all the material for all his classes, or about two weeks. His class that was a prelude to his last course before he obtained his phD was proving to be the most time consuming. He may very well be able to read 20 thousand words per minute, but that didn’t mean he could write them that fast, and writing his papers felt painstakingly slow because of it. 

His phone buzzed in his lap. Oliver. 

Surprisingly, Professor Hotchner was letting him text Oliver, and he was really nice about it. He was allowed to exchange messages with him until five in the evening, and after that he had to wait until the next day, and he also couldn’t send more than twenty texts per day. It made their conversations limited, but he was glad for anything at that point, and Professor Hotchner didn’t really have to let him do anything at all. He should be grateful. Well, he _was_ grateful. 

And the other thing that Professor Hotchner let him do was hang out with Penny that evening. That one he almost hoped he wouldn’t allow, but It turned out to be a very fun night, and maybe Professor Hotchner knew that in the first place? He had so much more fun than he would have anticipated. It helped a great deal that she didn’t force him out anywhere and it was just the two of them watching tv and talking at her dorm. He could have done without the talking, maybe, butt was mostly Penny gushing about someone in her cybersecurity class.

And sure, when she talked about the guy she liked _maybe_ he felt like Professor Hotchner’s name was on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t dare let that slip out. Besides, he and Professor Hotchner were nothing like Penny and Kevin, Kevin being the guy from her class. They were romantic. Professor Hotchner wasn’t exactly... romantic. He was sexual more than anything else, except for certain times when he could swear that he was looking at him with hearts in his eyes, or stroking his hair behind his ear, or hugging him close on his lap and murmuring sweet things in his ear… okay Professor Hotchner was _totally_ romantic. 

It made his stomach all jittery. 

So yeah, everytime Penny brought up Kevin, he wanted to gush right back about his own special someone. He wanted to tell her how he made him dinner and took him to the mall and bought him the cutest necklace ever. Instead he just fiddled with the compass between his fingers and hid a goofy grin. Even if he couldn’t say his things out loud… maybe it did feel good to gossip with Penny about boys. Well, men. Man. One man. His man. 

He grabbed his phone and texted back Oliver, deciding it was time for a study break. He stuffed everything in his bag and walked down the stairs to exit the library. He walked across campus, knocked on his Master’s office door, locked the door, and dropped to his knees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope u like it. Tried to edit. am low key a bit new-years drunk but thats neither here nor there. love u guys. update next week. muah


	28. Runs Are for Thinking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chap. Prof Hotch gave Spencer a ~~collar~~ necklace.

_"She wanted to go inside. She wanted to go in,_

_wanting it as we want to jump from balconies,_

_as the glint of the rails tempts us when we hear the approaching train.”_

― Thomas Harris, Hannibal

* * *

Spencer had a thought on his morning run. 

A bad one. 

Next semester his Master wouldn’t be his Professor anymore, and that thought was _scary._ It made him stop in the middle of the path and nearly trip on the pavement. Once he came to that realization, he felt like his chest was tight for two days straight. It only stopped when he was sitting on Master's lap, having just swallowed a load of cum, and he blurted it out like the words like projectile vomit. 

Once out, the tightness stopped. 

“I don’t want you to _not_ be my Professor anymore. Once this semester ends… next week, what am I gonna do? I like seeing you in class. I look forward to it... Sir.” 

“Don’t worry, Spencer, I’m not going anywhere.” He brought his lips to his forehead and kissed. 

“No, but it won’t be the _same._ I need you. I don’t want anything to change. I like it the way it is!” 

Professor Hotchner ran his hand up and down his arm. “Shh, sweetheart, it’s fine. We’ll see each other just as much. There’s no need to worry about missing me. I’m right here. Nothing is going to change except for the fact that we won’t see each other in class for a few hours. Besides, our class is only three times a week, it’s not that big of a change. You have to be a big boy and deal with it.” 

“But I don’t want to,” Spencer huffed. He tightened his grip around his Master and buried his face in his shoulder. 

“Well, you’re going to have to. The only way you’d still have me as a professor would be if you fail that class, and that’s impossible- You have a near perfect average,” he said. “You’ve finished all the lower level Psych classes, so you’re done with mine. Now, if you're interested in criminology...” 

“I could fail,” Spencer blurted out and looked up. “I’ll bomb the final.” 

“No, you will _not._ ” 

“Yes. I will!” Spencer looked at him with wide, fearful eyes. It was the only way to stay close to him. It was the _only_ way for things to stay the same. 

Taking the class again wouldn’t bother him. He was going to bomb the final. 

“If you purposely fail my final, you will be severely punished,” he said, ice dripping from his words. 

Spencer didn't care. He had his ass bruised a deeper purple than an eggplant and his dick sore beyond belief. He could do it again. They both absolutely hurt, but they faded after a while and just turned into a memory. He wanted this, _really_ wanted it, and he would take his punishment if need be. 

He didn't respond. Professor Hotchner pinched him on the thigh. “Do you understand me, Spencer? You are not to fail that test or you will regret it.” 

“I understand, Master.” And he did. He just didn’t care. 

Professor Hotchner took out a buttplug from his desk drawer, bigger than the one before, and made him wear it for the rest of the day.

. . . 

Later in the dorm, Spencer was sitting with Ethan and watching him shoot zombies. It wasn’t the most stimulating past time, but he promised Ethan he’d hangout with him more so there he was doing it. And, if he wanted to think about his course material in his head, Ethan would never know.

His phone buzzed and Professor Hotchner reminded him to eat dinner, which he really should have been asking permission for, but like always, he forgot. If anything, Professor Hotchner was enforcing it on him. Eating was boring and he had better things to do and think about. Like watching Ethan play video games… yeah, okay, he got up and heated some chicken with rice up in the microwave.

**Good boy. H.**

**Now go into the bathroom. H.**

**yes Master s.**

“Hey, uh, I’ll be right back,” Spencer said. Ethan grunted and yelled at the tv. 

He locked the door behind him and waited for another text. He was excited and horny just from the anticipation. His Master loved giving him tasks. 

**Take off your shirt. H.**

He stared back at his shirtless reflection, thinking. His body looked healthier than before. Just as lanky and skinny, but now it had a hint of strength to it. Just a _hint._ And his hair was getting long- all the way down past his shoulders. 

**Sharpie. On your hip. H.**

Spencer rummaged through the cabinet for a sharpie. He knew it was in there; it wasn’t the first time he’d been made to do this. 

**Saying what? s.**

**Something that makes you blush. H.**

**yes Master s.**

The text alone made him blush, he thought. H looked at his reflection, the marker in his hand, going through all of the possibilities that might please Professor Hotchner. There were plenty of terms that made him feel embarrassed, ashamed. Humiliated. So many of the things he’s read online have made him blush like crazy. 

There was a giddy feeling filling him and he made bold black stokes on the skin above his thigh and under his belly button. Professor Hotchner loved that sensitive bit of skin. He always left bite marks that lasted for days. 

**I finished Master s.**

**Good boy. Take a picture. Show me how pretty my boy looks. H.**

Spencer hated this part... he never liked seeing himself in photographs. He was too awkward looking, too skinny, too ugly. Even with the newfound muscle he was still a gangly string bean. He pushed his sweats back down low so all of the words were showing, gave an embarrassed little smile, and snapped the picture. 

**Image0023.jpg s. **

**So gorgeous, sweetheart. H.**

Spencer blushed harder than he did when he wrote the words. Gorgeous… he wasn’t gorgeous. But Master thought he was. Did he _really_ think that? He wanted to say NO, but Professor Hotchner wouldn’t like him questioning if what he said was right. His word was law, and he said he was gorgeous… then he was. 

No arguments. 

His heart fluttered. Professor Hotchner could be really, really sweet. He reread the text over and over. And over and over and over. 

_Gorgeous._

He typed out his reply. **thank you Master s.** But he didn’t send it. 

Stilling, he quick tacked on a '<3'. That was okay, wasn’t it? He’d done it before. Once, when he didn’t have time to think it through. His heart was hammering in his chest. _Send it!_ his brain said. _You like him, don't you? He puts hearts in your eyes. He just called you gorgeous! Send it._

He closed his eyes and pressed send. There. He did it. 

**thank you Master <3 s.**

**It’s almost time for bed, my good little boy. Text me later. H.**

See? Fine. It was fine. 

He tugged up sweats and threw his Dr. Who teeshirt back on (a surprisingly awesome gift from Penny) and went back out to the couch to Ethan who didn’t even look like he noticed he was gone for the past ten minutes. 

“Dude, where’d you go? You fall in?” 

Or maybe he did. 

“No, I didn't _fall in_.” Spencer laughed, and reached over to push his shoulder and topple him over. He hardly budged. 

He just laughed, “Hey! Quit it!” and threw a handful of pretzels at his face. 

“Ow! That hit my eye!” Spencer gasped. “Ethan! You fucker! Ow!” 

Ethan yelled at the tv again, turned, and grinned at him. 

This time Spencer pushed him clean off the sofa and grinned right back. “Ah-! Oh god! No-! I died! Spence, I was _so far!_ oh my god, the checkpoint was ages ago!” 

“That’s what you get!” he laughed. 

“Not that's what _you_ get!” Ethan cried, pummeling him into the couch cushions. They’d fought like this a million times; Spencer was due to call uncle soon. If Ethan came in with the tickling, he was _so_ done. 

Yep, he was done. “E! No! Stop! Hahahahah!” He thrashed his legs out and fisted Ethan’s shirt in his hand, trying to him off, but laughing way too hard to be effective. 

“Never!” he smirked, shoving his fingers under Spencer’s arms and wriggling them about. “You made me lose TWO HOURS of progress!” 

“I— ah- I di— Eth— oh my-” He tried to catch his breath but the laughing and the sharp breaths just kept coming. Finally, he managed to scoot himself further up and out from underneath Ethan, but that only gave him the opportunity to grab his ankles and torture his feet which was ten times worse. “ETHAN!” Spencer half-screamed half-laughed, "ETHAN—" 

He was kicking and kicked and breathing heavy but Ethan stopped without even being asked. 

“Hey, man... is that— Do you have a tattoo?” 

“What?” asked Spencer, looking down at his shirt that was riding up on his stomach, and his sweatpants that were _almost_ covering his… “NO!” 

“Oh, come on! Yes, you do! It’s right there! Dude—” his eyes were wild with wonder, “Come on! What is it?! I never thought, not in a million years, you’d get a tat. I mean, _dude_!” 

“It’s- it’s not-” Spencer grabbed his sweats and pulled them up, swatting away Ethan’s hand in the process. “It’s… personal. I can’t show you.” 

“Is it weird? What is it, a heart with ‘mommy’ in it? I already know you’re a momma’s boy. A pentagram? Minnie mouse? Symbol for Pi? Come on, I wanna know!” 

“No!” 

“But, _Spence!”_

No way on Earth he was going to let Ethan see **'DADDY'S FUCKHOLE’** written on his hip. Nu-uh, no. Instead, he tied his sweatpants up _tight_ (Ethan was clawing at them) and made a mad dash for his room. 

“Spence! You’re gonna have to show me eventually!” 

Spencer shouted back from the closed door of their bedroom. “Not a chance!” 

He slumped down against he bed and let out a breath. Wow, his heart would not stop hammering in his chest. Maybe it was time to invest in some rubbing alcohol, he thought. 

Yep, definitely time.


	29. HOTCH

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the last chapter, Spencer begrudgingly went for a run as Prof Hotch instructed him to do every morning, and then engaged in some naughty texting with him. He wrote something embarrassing above his hip and Ethan nearly saw it.

_"It's a troubling paradox- I have total control, but only to the extent I have control over myself.”_

__

―Blake Crouch, Dark Matter 

__

* * *

__

Aaron was fielding calls all day from the custody lawyer, Jessica’s attorney, and the Social Services agency all morning. Matters were heating up for him after waiting so long; he’d been patient and it was finally paying off— Jack was coming home. Occasionally, but still. He secured unsupervised visitation which was the best scenario he could have hoped for given the current situation. 

__

Sometime after the debacle, to put it lightly, with Foyett, there was a period where he felt as if he was continually on the edge of snapping. Fire. Everything was red, hot fire and there was _rage_ that consumed him. The same rage that led him to murder Foyett in cold blood on his living room floor. Kept beating him, too, as he was dragged off his limp, bloodied body. 

__

It made him unstable. For a while he wasn’t the kind of person that should be around a child. He was getting better, though, bit by bit. Jessica and the court were finally letting him back into his life. 

__

He set up a date and a time, heart fluttering in his chest, for Saturday. 

__

He missed Jack dearly.

__

Someday he would be the kind of father that made his son want to dress up like him for Halloween again. If it took everything he had, he’d get there. 

__

The next morning he stocked his house full of food, games, and anything that a small child might enjoy. That meant lots of superhero everything. Spiderman action figures, Batman blankets, and red sneakers with The Flash logo on the side. He hoped it would be enough. 

__

He hoped Jack would forgive him.

__

By afternoon he was on autopilot going through his lectures with a striking lack of interest. The fourth class he had was the only one that did anything for him, and that was only because Spencer was sitting in the front row eyeing him up like God. 

__

He ignored him, mostly, careful not to give the other students any indications of his special preference for him, and went as far as shooting him obscure questions he was positive he never read about. He liked the way he would stumble over his words and admit defeat- the way that his cheeks flushed in embarrassment was exhilarating. Turning him into a blubbering idiot was his favorite thing to do. 

__

What’s more, he could _see_ how Spencer loved it. Deep down, that kid was getting off so hard on the way he was publicly humiliated for being everything he never was. He _liked_ the was he made him feel stupid. He _liked_ not being ‘The Genius kid’ for a few minutes each day. He _loved_ it, and Aaron would give it to him because that’s what you do for your boy; you give him what he needs. 

__

After class, he fucked Spencer over his desk, then brought him back home. Fucking him in his office was risky but the way he looked at him with those needy eyes made him cave every single time. The door was locked, at any rate, and if someone did demand to be let in, he’d simply have a repeat of what happened a few weeks ago with Professor Hayward.

__

He wouldn’t mind that. 

__

As soon as he was inside, Spencer stripped down to his boxers and sunk to his knees. It was entirely pleasing to see how well he trained Spencer. He was becoming the shamelessly submissive boy that he knew he could be, that he could make him. There wasn’t anymore stuttering or struggling to ask for what he wanted. Now, Spencer begged, pleaded, and presented himself, hoping to get everything that he wanted, and Aaron wanted to give it all. 

__

His head was tipped forward, hair spilling off his bare shoulders, back slightly arched, knees tucked under his thighs, and hands clasped behind his back. He didn’t look up when he walked away, or when he put his briefcase in his study. He didn’t look up when he passed by again, taking off his jacket and hanging it in the closet, or when he sifted through the pile of mail on the table. He sat completely still. 

__

Spencer came forward when Aaron called for him; it was immediate. He told him to come sit at the doorway to his office and he did just that while he took the next hour going over paperwork. Managing his classes was easy enough, if not for the busy work. Spencer sat by and waited for him to finish. 

__

After he did, he took a few minutes to admire Spencer in the doorway. It was amazing how much he held up in that head. When he thought about it too much, Aaron was amazed that Spencer seemed to want to obey _him_. Or had learned to like it, at the very least. It was hard to tell. Whatever the case, that genius was _his_ boy. He wore his necklace, his collar, and he obeyed every word out of his mouth. He opened up his mouth, his ass, let him fuck him and fill him and do anything he pleased to him. And he _loved_ it. He begged for it. How did he manage to pull that off?

__

He picked up a paper on the side of his desk and leaned back in his chair looking at it. It was a receipt for a desk. A desk for Spencer. One to put in his office so that he could work on his schooling. Spencer was writing his dissertation, afterall. It seemed a bit much, perhaps, but Spencer was growing on him in a big way. 

__

“Living room, now,” he said. Spencer ducked his head in compliance and crawled away, his pert little ass swaying sinfully as he went.

__

He rewarded his boy by letting him suck him off. Spencer kept his eyes up the entire time, no matter how watery and desperate they had become by the end of it. He was the most enticing mixture of sexy and adorable. Everything about his red face and hollowed cheeks made Aaron want to thrust in deeper down his throat and flood it with his cum, and everything about the way that his eyes were blown wide and looking at him like he was _everything_ made him want to scoop him up and plant kisses all over his face until he keened with happiness. 

__

Instead, he wound his finger gently in the chain around Spencer's neck so it was pulled taut and fucked his wet mouth over and over until he came shallowly on his tongue and Spencer swallowed it all down. He wanted him to taste it. 

__

Since he did such a good job, he let Spencer up on the couch and rest his head in his lap. 

__

Aaron pulled out his cold case files and let Spencer help as best as he could with them. It wasn’t so much that he had any knowledge on profiling, not _yet_ , it was that he could spot a small detail and launch into an entire encyclopedia’s worth of knowledge, and it helped put more than a few puzzle pieces together in Aaron’s mind. It astounded him. 

__

Evening crawled by with Spencer still in his lap, dozing slightly, Aaron’s fingers scratching at his head, and when it hit five pm Aaron ordered him up to make dinner. He patted his butt and gave him instructions on what to do, knowing that by now he’d follow them to the T. There would be no more skipping on washing the dishes, and having to get spanked on the counter, or leaving out the ingredients to go bad and having to stand in the corner and count to a thousand. He could cook dinner all on his own without Aaron anticipating failure. 

__

Aaron liked the domesticity of it. The way that Spencer radiated this interesting mix of masculine and feminine energy with an apron on did things to his heart that he wanted to push so far down that he couldn’t find it anymore. He didn’t want to have feelings for Spencer. Not true feelings, any way, only the kind that came from his hard cock wanting to feel the inside of him. 

__

The intrusive thoughts about Spencer looking angelic and homely were not productive, not good. Under no circumstances he did want to love his boy like _that_. It was sexual. Possessive, even, he could admit to that. Just not… romantic. 

__

“Dinner’s ready, Master,” Spencer said. 

__

Aaron looked down at him kneeling on the floor. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice him crawl up. He was smiling so bright and proud, his eyes flickering back and forth from the kitchen to him, and Aaron leaned down to place a kiss on his forehead. 

__

“Good boy,” he praised. Spencer blushed and followed him. 

__

Spencer sat at the table eating his chicken and vegetables when Aaron noticed his eyes land on something by the door. Spencer’s brows furrowed, Aaron could see confusion and a slight flash of panic running across his features. Then he remembered what was by the door. Jack’s new shoes. 

__

“They’re for my son,” he said, not turning around. He put his fork down. “He’s coming here on Saturday. I have visitation.”

__

“I didn’t know that.” Spencer's eyes were still locked on the shoes, looking funny. 

__

“That’s because I hadn’t told you yet.” 

__

“Were you planning on it?”

__

Aaron sighed. “On telling you? I’m not sure. I thought about it.” He could see the disappointment on Spencer’s face clear as day. That, and insecurity. There was a fear in the back of his mind that Spencer would react this way, and that was the reason he didn’t tell him. 

__

“Oh.” Spencer took another bite of chicken and swallowed it down. 

__

“It doesn’t concern you.” Aaron’s voice was strict and unyielding. “My son is my business. What you and I do is separate from my home life.” 

__

Spencer didn’t look pleased at that, showing the first bit of defiance in quite a while. Since the conference, or, more specifically, since his punishment after. “But we’re at your home right now. And I always come over on Saturdays. That’s _my_ day.” 

__

Aaron raised an eyebrow at him, giving him a meaningful look. “Behave, Spencer.” 

__

He looked down to his plate. “I’m sorry, Master.” 

__

“You can come on Fridays instead.” 

__

“I guess…” He sighed. 

__

“No,” Aaron said. “Not ‘I guess’, say ‘thank you’.” 

__

“Thank you,” he grumbled. “I guess.” 

__

“Okay. If you’re going to be a brat, get on the floor.” 

__

“I wasn't—” 

__

“Now, Spencer.” 

__

He watched Spencer's frown deepen as he got off his chair and onto his hands and knees. If he was going to act like a defiant little brat, then he wasn’t going to be allowed to eat at the table like a good boy with manners. He took Spencer’s plate and set it down on the tile in front of him. “Eat.” 

__

“But my fork—”

__

“No. _Eat,_ ” he growled. 

__

Spencer tipped his head down and started eating right off the plate with his mouth. He was messy and inefficient, getting food all over his cheeks and chin. 

__

Aaron frowned at him. If he acted up any more, he’d have to punish him, and he planned on a nice evening, hoping to cuddle up with his boy and watch a movie before bed. He even rented a film Spencer asked to see, _A Beautiful Mind_ , but it was too late for that now; that would be for a special day. 

__

Spencer looked back up at him with hurt eyes but he made him lick the plate clean just to drive home the point. He needed Spencer to understand the consequences of talking back and questioning his authority. He would learn quickly what it meant to make a fuss about him seeing his son. 

__

The only unexpected occurrence about the whole ordeal was watching the lust build up in Spencer’s briefs. Looked like his little slut liked being treated like a dumb puppy, despite how much it made him feel disrespected and hurt. 

__

Or, Aaron figured, that was most likely a part of it. 

__

Spanking would be next if he complained about Jack again, and Spencer didn’t like spanking one bit.

__

__

_. . ._

Aaron drove Spencer home in the morning. The rest of the night passed smoothly, though Spencer did act far more clingy than usual.

His classes consisted of final study sessions and reviews, and the next day was all about his son. 

__

Jessica brought Jack over early in the morning. Aaron opened the door feeling like he was going to throw up his breakfast all over the welcome mat. 

__

Jessica addressed him coolly. “Aaron.”

__

“DADDY!” Jack screamed. He bounced on his feet, teeter tottering around, trying to get impossibly close to his father. He immediately latched onto his leg with a big hug and wouldn’t let go. 

__

Aaron squatted down and took Jack in his arms, squeezing him tight, all the longing he’d been feeling rising to the surface and making him shake. “Jack, buddy, I’ve missed you _so_ much. I love you, Jacks. Look how big you’ve gotten!” Aaron sniffed, fighting back the tears. He rubbed little circles on Jack’s back to distract himself. 

__

Jack grinned all toothy, (though one less than before judging by the gaping hole right in front- Aaron wondered if he still believed in the tooth fairy) standing up on his tippy toes. “I missed you too, Daddy. I did get real tall! Almost as tall as you, dad.” He giggled. “Aunt Jessica says we can hang out all day! Can we go to the arcade?”

__

“Yes, of course we can. And your Aunt Jessica is right. Today is all about you and me. We’re going to have a lot of fun together, and we’ll do it every week. What do you think about that, big guy?” 

__

“Really?!” Jack gasped, bouncing again. “Yes! So cool! Aunt Jessica, did you hear that? I'm gonna see Dad every week!” 

__

“I heard, honey,” Jessica said, smiling down at him. 

__

“Come on, bud. Your Aunt has things to do, let’s go inside.” He held out his hand and Jack took it. 

__

Aaron shot a look at Jessica, appreciative and genuine despite everything she did to keep them apart. He truly was trying to put it behind him. He would start by faking it. It couldn’t hurt having her friendly with him, anyway. Or civil, at the very least. “Thank you, Jess.”

__

“I’ll be back at seven tonight,” she said with her back already turned, going down the porch stairs. 

__

“Seven, got it,” he called back. Ten wonderful hours with his favorite little guy. 

__

He squeezed Jack’s hand. 

__

“Want to see what I got you?” Aaron grinned. 

__

Jack's eyes went wide. “Wow, a present?! Yeah!”

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is next week! Thanks for everyone continuing to read, you guys seriously are the best. ❤️


	30. Spencer’s Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chap was about Hotch and getting some custody of Jack. Spencer spend the day at his house and then Hotch told him he couldn’t spend Saturdays with him anymore. Spencer didn’t like that.

**Master? s.**

**Prof. Hotchner? s.**

**Miss you. s.**

**Can I eat breakfast? s.**

**Message me back? Did I do smthn wrong? s.**

**Hello? s.**

**Need you. s.**

**Spencer, I’m with my son. I can’t micromanage you today. I’ll text you around 8pm. Until then, you can do what you want, just behave yourself. H.**

**Wait you cant leave me alone s.**

**Master :( s.**

**I dont know what to do w/o u. s.**

**Can I see my friends? s.**

**Fine s.**

**See u at 8. s.**

** <\3 s.**

Spencer shoved his phone back in his pocket. Eight pm seemed impossibly far away. What would he even do with himself for so long? Professor Hotchner didn’t even let him breathe without permission and now he was giving him free reign to do whatever he wanted all because his son showed up? Not fair. 

Not fair _at all._ He liked the rules. He liked asking permission. He liked his Master breathing down his neck for every single thing. As backwards as it sounded, it made him feel loved and wanted. 

Now he felt empty. His hand itched over his back pocket. The clock told him that only five minutes passed. 

Right where his heart sat was a bottomless hole, making him ache from his head to his toes. He wanted Professor Hotchner like he wanted to breathe. His Master was his air, his water, his shelter. He was everything. 

Ten minutes. It was only nine in the morning. He already went on his run, taken a shower, and now… now he was going to eat without consulting Professor Hotchner, because he said he could do what he wanted. 

Doing what he wanted meant eating pop tarts and soda and everything else in the cabinets that would rot him from the inside out. Ethan wouldn’t notice if he ate a few. And _coffee_. He could have _so much_ coffee. No more stopping at two cups; he brewed a pot with the intention of drinking the entire thing. He put a bag of sugar on the counter, his pop tarts, powerade, and a pack of Reese's cups. Screw the rules. He wasn’t going to behave so long as his Master was ignoring him in favor of _Jack._

Ethan slammed the door to their bedroom and came shuffling out into the main room, a fist rubbing at his sleep-filled eyes, and his pajama bottoms riding low on his waist. He arched an eyebrow at Spencer. “Fall off the healthy wagon?” 

“Hm?” Spencer hummed with a mouthful of chocolate. “Oh, I- um. No, this is just…” 

“Just candy and chocolate for breakfast?” Ethan laughed. “I’m not judging, man. I just meant you’ve been crazy healthy for a while now. I was wondering when you’d go back to coffee and air for sustenance.” 

“Coffee is an essential food group.” Spencer smirked. The pot behind him beeped and he poured himself a glass in his favorite tardis shaped mug. “Besides, It’s just… for today. I think. We’ll see. I don’t know. I don’t want to talk about it. How’s, uh, Elle?” 

Ethan plopped down on the couch with a grin covering his entire face. “She’s _great_. God, she’s really great.” He closed his eyes and tipped his head back on the pillow and hummed. He seemed calm and happy. Spencer envied him immensely. He thought about the phone in his back pocket with no new messages. 

His Master always made him feel the way Ethan was feeling with Elle. 

“Do you love her?” Spencer blurted. He sat down on the couch next to Ethan’s feet and sipped his coffee with both hands slowly burning themselves on the mug. 

Ethan’s eye flickered open. “Love?” He laughed. “Hell, yeah, spence. I fucking love her. But.” He shuffled up so his back was propped up against the arm of the couch, “Don’t you dare tell her that, you got it? It’s way too soon.” 

Spencer took a sip and hummed at the flavor. He couldn’t meet Ethan’s eyes. “There's too soon? When can you… How… How do you know you’re in love?” 

“Well, you just know. There’s butterflies and they’re always on your mind.” 

Spencer thought about Professor Hotchner looking at him with his dark, intense eyes. He felt butterflies in his stomach. He felt butterflies in his stomach all the time around his Master. He thought about him constantly, too. Always. He couldn’t think of a time that he _wasn’t_ thinking about him. “You know the butterfly feeling is just a physiologic response, right? It’s adrenaline.” 

Damn, He couldn’t _not_ quote research, could he? It was right there in his brain begging to be let out. 

“I don’t care what it is.” Ethan yawned. “I don’t get ‘adrenaline’ around any other girls, so call it whatever you will, I just know that Elle’s the one that makes me feel that way.” 

“I never thought about it like that.” Spencer yanked back his mug from Ethan’s grabbing hands. “Get your own!” 

Ethan groaned, getting up off the couch. He looked back and raised a brow at Spencer. “And you know, that’s that’s because you only think about things in terms of science and evidence-this and research-that. Gotta think with your heart, dude. It’s all about heart.” He picked up the pot of coffee and poured out a glass while Spencer looked at it with disapproving eyes. 

“When can you tell them? You know, that you, uh, love them?” Spencer whispered. Ethan only caught just barely. 

“Heart, my man. Your heart will tell you. When it feels like you can’t keep it in your heart for even a second longer. That, or a few months in.” He laughed. “Gotta give her a few months, you don’t want to scare her away. Oh- or him. Sorry, I forgot.” 

“Months.” He mused. It’d been more than a few months with Professor Hotchner, but he only felt like he might love him in the last few. Recently he was almost sure of it. It must be what Ethan meant, the heart thing, because he didn’t have any logical explanation for the way that his Master made him feel, like everything inside him was yearning for his touch.

. . . 

Around noon, Spencer sat in the bathroom with his pants around his ankles and his hand wrapped around his cock, thinking about last week when his Master fucked him into the mattress so hard he had to carry him to the couch afterward. His memory was a beautiful thing; he could relive it like a movie, seeing Professor Hotchner’s red face above him, his strong hands gripping his thighs, the dark chest hair matted against his sweaty chest. 

His hand worked quicker. He could almost feel the way he had held his own thighs back, his knees pressed against his chest, opened wide and vulnerable as Professor Hotchner took him. Each and every kiss he could see, almost feel. Professor Hotchner’s lips against his. Professor Hotchner’s dark eye lashes, his intense eyes. He voice, raspy and lust-ridden. The names that made his chest tighten. The passion written across his face as he possessed him. _His, his his._ Tension built up inside him, he was getting so close. Under his breath he whispered for permission, but his Master wasn’t around to give it. He didn’t know if he could cum, quite honestly, because this didn’t feel like behaving. He was almost over the edge though, teetering right on the brink. 

He was _so_ close. There was that raw feeling of sex and submission, giving himself, fire burning, pressure building, sweat forming. The taste of cum ghosting in his mouth, the musky scent of Professor Hotchner pinging in his brain. _Please, please, please_ spilling out of his lips. 

He couldn’t get over that ledge. He kept pumping his cock. His hand was wet with lube and sweat, and it felt like he was going to burst but he couldn’t do it. _Let me, please, fuck, please-_

Harder, and faster. More pressure, more urgency. His eyes were strained and images flashed behind his eyes. Master’s heavy cock above him. Master’s dark hair, well defined arms, his toned athletic legs, his lightly sculpted abdomen with that manly trail of hair leading down down down to his favorite part. Please, god, he couldn’t do it. He needed his Master. He wanted release but he couldn’t give it to himself. 

He pulled out his phone from his pants on the floor. 

**Master, pls, can i cum s.**

**Pls. s.**

**Urgent. s.**

**Master s.**

**Plsssss s.**

**Pat attn 2 me s.**

**Need u s.**

**Pls pls pls plsplsplspls s.**

**Prof Hotchner s.**

**Master s.**

**Pls answer me s.**

**Why r u makin me beg s.**

**Im so hard s.**

**Cant u give me 1 minute s.**

**I know ur seeing this s.**

**Master pls i need u s.**

Fuck, he was embarrasing himself. He knew that somewhere in the back of his mind, the rational part, but everything was foggy and clouded by his desire to spill his seed all over his hands. Professor Hotchner never answered. His cock pulsed and he couldn’t get himself to cum. He let out a desperate cry and groaned into his hands, which reeked of sex. Lube smeared on his cheek. He grimaced. 

With only one thing left to do, he jumped into the shower, cold as ice, and yelped as it hit his skin. It was a horrible day so far. The water was torturous but at least it made his dick soften. 

He couldn’t look at himself in the mirror afterwards. 

He napped until two.

. . . 

One shining light to come out of his horrible day was that he didn't have to feel guilty talking to Oliver.

**Hey Oli S.**

**Spence! Hey O.**

**You never text me first, everything okay? O.**

**Yeah, fine. A lttle dwn 2day. Srry I suck at frndshps S.**

**Pfft, no you don't. You’re my most interesting friend. You just need a little push sometimes :P O.**

**I'm nt tht intrsting. I just knw a lot of intrsting thngs S.**

**Coming from someone who knows all those same things, you’re very interesting. Last time I saw you in person we talked for hours O.**

**I only sw u tht 1 tme, but yeah, I rembr S.**

**If you let me visit you, we could see each other again. No pressure or anything, but I really like you as a friend. O.**

**Me 2. S.**

**Maybe u cn one day. S.**

**I hope so. Hey- did you see that study that came out about determinism and fatalism by Roberts? Really interesting. I met her last spring at a seminar at my alma mater. O.**

**Yeah, I read it ystrdy actlly. I was thnkng abt u. S.**

**Shoulda texted me! Haha O.**

**Wait, did u rlly meet her? What'd she tll u? What’d u tlk abt? S.**

**Pfft. Next time I will txt u. S.**

**A lot of interesting stuff. Too much to text. I’ll tell you one day when I see you. O.**

**There was another thing that I read yesterday too -**

Spencer grinned into the shining screen of his phone every time Oliver’s green little envelope popped up. By the time he blinked his eyes, hours had passed and he’d sent more messages in the span of one afternoon than he had since he got his phone in the first place. 

A lead weight sat in his stomach and he deleted his inbox of Oliver’s messages just in case. 

It was still only six, though, and Professor Hotchner said he wouldn't text until eight. He hadn’t done anything all day except eat pop tarts, try to masturbate, and talk to Oliver. It was the worst most unfulfilling day ever.

The most infuriating part was that every single thought cycled back to Professor Hotchner without fail. No matter what he did he ended up thinking about his Master. There was this itch that he couldn’t scratch. A sneaky little itch that screamed, pleaded, begged, and lit him on fire. 

He grabbed a handful of books off his dresser, all of which he’s read before. He ran through seven of them in an hour. For the next hour he reread his Engineering textbook cover to cover twice. It was 7:59.

Hotch. Hotch. Hotch. He couldn’t help it. He just _couldn't._ His brain was on fire with want. 

8:00. He stared at his phone. The minute ticked slowly by. 8:01. 

Where was his Master? Why wasn’t he texting? He waited all day. He _said_ he would text at 8. It was 8. It was 8:02. 

_He promised._

**It’s 8 Master s.**

**Miss u Master s.**   
**Hello? s.**

**Don’t knw wht to do w/out u s.**

**R u okay? It’s 8. s.**

**Hw is Jack? s.**

**R u hvng fun w/out me? s.**

**Y arn’t u answrng me? s.**

**Did I do smthng wrng? s.**

**Do u like him mre thn me? s.**

**I’ve bn a good boy, I thnk s.**

**Cn I see u tmrrw? s.**

**It’s 8. Where r u? s.**

**Miss u. s.**

8:09.

His hands were trembling, so he shoved them under his thighs and sat on them. Then the tears came, hot and heavy down his cheeks. He really didn’t want to be crying over his Master but he couldn’t stop; the tears were pouring out. His breathing came in wracked heaving sobs, sending tremors through his chest. He missed him so much, more than anything else in the entire world. Why did he abandon him? Why did he leave him all alone? Snot leaked from his nose and he freed his hand to wipe it away.

He wanted his Master. He wanted his Daddy. 

He wanted to curl up in his lap and smell his cologne and feel his soft shirt and hard chest underneath, all grounding and solid. 

He dialed Professor Hotchner’s number but it kept going to voicemail, so he cursed and hit the mattress. 

He peered over at the phone. Could he-?

 _You can do what you want._ That’s what he said. _do what you want._

He dialed up Oliver. On the second ring, he picked up. 

“Spencer?” He said. His voice was light, but confused. “You called.”

“Um, yeah.” He sniffed, wiggling on the bed. 

“Woah, you okay? You sound like you’re crying? Is that why you called? What happened?” 

“Oli, um. Yeah, I’m fine. I guess I just wanted to talk to you. Feeling… lonely.” 

“M’sorry, Spence. I’m here for you.” Oliver sounded like he was smiling, but sad. “I guess you know that, you called, afterall. And hey, I’m glad you did.” 

“You sure? Cause I’m kind of a mess, and you’re this amazing doctor with a great job and probably ten times more maturity than me, and you don’t need me crying about my dumb problems. You’re probably at work right now.” 

“Spencer, chill. I’m not at work. First of all, it’s Saturday. Second, you’re almost a doctor yourself, so that holds no weight. And third, you’re basically a little mini-me, so anything nice you say about me you’re going to have to take as a compliment about yourself too.” He chuckled. 

Spencer snorted. “Nu uh, that’s not true at all. We’re the same except you’re the original and I'm the cheap worthless knock off.” 

Oliver laughed again, and it made Spencer’s lips twitch. Hearing his voice for the first time in over a month was better than he expected it to be. He may have only met him once, but it was a memorable meeting and it felt like he’d known him for years. 

“You’re not a knock off. We’re like two pieces of the same puzzle: slightly different but entirely the same.” 

“No,” Spencer mumbled.

“Yep.” 

“You’re like a peer-reviewed article, and I’m like a magazine column.” 

“Okay, now I know you’re joking because that’s borderline genius.” Oliver said, his voice fond. 

Spencer picked at the comforter and pulled a thread out. “Maybe a little. But that one was too good to let go.” 

“You’re great, Spence. Don’t cry, okay? I don’t know what has you down, but you deserve all the happiness in the world. From one lonely nerd to another.” 

“Thanks, Oli...” Spencer smiled, for real that time. “Hey, maybe…” _Do what you want._ “Maybe, uh, we _can_ meet up sometime. I miss you.”

“Anytime! you know I’m here fo- hey, what’s that? You okay?”

Spencer was fumbling with his phone so hard it fell to the floor, and he cried out. It was beeping with a message. He looked at the clock, 8:35pm. _Master_. 

He scrambled to get his phone, and pressed it to his ear. “M’fine, I gotta go. Thanks for everything.” 

“No prob-” _Click._

**I’m here. I got held up. Coming to pick you up. Meet me in the parking lot. H.**

**Yes Sir! S.**

He was so pent up with excitement he tripped right over feet getting out of bed and landed face first on the carpet. His nose was aching and painful, but it didn’t stop him from running out the front door. 

He was so caught up in his frenzy he didn’t even notice that he didn’t bring a jacket until he was down in the parking lot, shivering in the darkness. Rubbing his hands against his arms didn’t do a damn thing against the bite, and as much as he dreaded the cold, he couldn’t bring himself to go back to the dorm lest his Master show up while he was gone. No- he’d wait.


	31. Jealous and Desperate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the last chapter... Spencer was ignored by Prof Hotch and he finally, finally got a text from him at the end of the night that he was coming to pick him up in the parking lot.

His fingers trembled on the car door handle, both cold as ice; winter chilled him to the bone waiting in the parking lot for Professor Hotchner to show up. His nose was numb and so were his toes inside his loafers. Plus, he only had a tee shirt on, and not even one of the comfy sweaters that Professor Hotchner so generously bought him. 

Professor Hotchner, his saviour. Professor Hotchner, with his toasty heated car and his big warm hands touching his face, so good. Warmth spread through his cheeks and he nuzzled into the hands holding him like a lifeline. 

“Master…” he purred. 

“Spencer, you’re freezing!”

“I kno’ s’cold outside,” he mumbled slowly. 

“Why weren’t you wearing a jacket? Why did you leave that way in the middle of winter? Oh, Spencer, Jesus, come here- give me your hands.” He had his brows furrowed and Spencer didn’t notice the creases on his forehead or the deep set frown: he only felt his hands being grabbed and rubbed together. They warmed up slowly by the heat of his touch like his own personal oven. 

“Mmmm...”

Professor Hotchner brought his hands up and kissed then, then rubbed them together more. “Don’t do this again.” 

“Kay,” Spencer said, his eyes wide and staring with satisfaction. It didn’t matter that Professor Hotchner was reprimanding him— he was with him again, and that was all that mattered. He felt whole for the first time all day, like everything else bad melted away and he was left with pure bliss. “Missed you.” 

“Put your hands on the heater,” he replied.

. . . 

Once inside, Professor Hotchner pulled him into the living room and further before he could start undressing. That alone made Spencer feel a bit uneasy; did he not want to see him naked? Everything was suddenly _changing._

The bed dipped underneath him and Hotch’s arms enveloped him. They pulled him against his chest, and pushed him down against the bed; it felt to him as if he were wrapped in a comfy blanket burrito made of his sweetest dreams. He closed his eyes and smiled, that cologne filling his head, and Professor Hotchner’s hair soft against his neck. 

“Daddy,” he whined, pulling fistfuls of Professor Hotchner’s sweatshirt towards him. 

“Shh, Spence. Not now. No talking,” he murmured. “Let’s get you warmed up and then I need to talk to you about something.”

He licked his lips. “About what?” 

“I said shhh. Now put your hands up.” 

He obeyed, and his shirt slipped over his head. His pants were next, and Master carried him into the bathroom, pushing him under the hot water, scrubbing him from head to toe. He rested his head against Hotch’s wet chest as those big hands caressed his body. All the sentiments that he accumulated all day came pouring out, mumbling sweet little nothings under his breath about how much he needed to be held, and couldn’t go a single second without knowing his Daddy was there for him. 

He wrapped his arms around Master’s waist and leaned into the sensation of fingers rubbing against his scalp. Shampoo ran down his forehead and he tasted chemicals on his lips. He pressed a kiss onto his Daddy’s chest and cried a little bit without him noticing; he still felt broken even in Daddy’s arms.

Daddy left him alone all day and ignored all his messages— Why would he leave him all alone? 

“Sweetheart, are you crying…?” He pushed him back to take a look at his face, and he was thankful that the shower masked his tears. 

“N-No.” 

“Yes, you are. Spence, why are you crying?” He squatted down in front of him, holding both of his arms in a steadying grip.

“Mmm’not…” he sniffed. 

Professor Hotchner made a _tsk_ sound with his tongue and turned off the water, ushering him out and wrapping him up in a towel. He dried him off, fetched a pair of pajamas, and helped him change before setting him back down on the bed with a blanket over his shoulders. 

“We need to talk,” he said. Those words rang in Spencer’s ears like sirens screaming out DEF-CON-1. _High Alert: Master doesn’t want you anymore!_

He closed his eyes and pulled the blanket over his head. “No, no we don’t. Everything’s fine, Daddy.” 

Professor Hotchner sat down next to him, the bed dipped down, and he pulled the blanket off his face. “Not now with ‘Daddy’, okay? Things aren't fine. You were upset today.”

“Why can’t you be Daddy?” His gut was twisted uncomfortably. 

“Because I said so,” he sighed. “I needed the day for personal matters, and you didn’t handle it well. Spencer? Are you listening? 

He fiddled with a string poking out from the blanket and twisted it around his finger. “Yes, Sir.” 

“You texted me over _40_ times.” He looked at Spencer pointedly. “That’s not okay. I need you to be able to be on your own.” 

“Well, I can’t.” 

“You can’t? Yes, you can. Be a big boy.”

“No, I can’t. I couldn’t. I needed you. I _can’t live without you._ ” His chest felt tight and twisty. 

Professor Hotchner cupped his cheek. “You’re not living without me. I’m right here, but I can’t be there 24/7.” 

Spencer looked up to meet his eyes, his own red and watery ones met with surprisingly soft brown ones. “Why can’t you? Can’t I live here with you?”

“Oh, baby, no,” he whispered, stroking his cheek. “You can’t live here with me.”

“Why not?”

“Because, you can’t. It wouldn’t be appropriate.” 

“It’s ‘cause Jack is here now. He’s ruining _everything,_ ” Spencer whined under his breath. 

Hotch stiffened against him. “No,” he said, his voice hard. “I can see you’re jealous, Spencer, but that needs to stop.” 

“He’s the reason you’re not letting me call you Daddy, right?” 

Hotch choked on his words, shocked for the first time in front of Spencer. “I- yes. Yes, that’s correct. Just not today, okay? Not now. I’ll still be your Daddy, Spence, I’m not going to stop.” 

Spencer shut his eyes tight enough to hurt. “I feel like I'm dying.”

“Stop that right now. You don’t mean that.”

“No! I do. You don’t love me. You don’t want me anymore. You don’t want me to live with you, or stay in your class, you ignored me all day when I needed you, you like Jack better than me, you won’t be my Daddy, _why_ don’t you love me?” Tears welled up and spilled hot down his cheeks.

Professor Hotchner wiped a tear away with his thumb. “Spencer, I... “

Spencer scooted back shaking his hand off his cheek. “I _love you._ ”

Silence fell in the room. He could hear the clock ticking on the wall. Tick, tock.

“Why don’t you love me...?” he whispered, and his voice broke. 

He wanted Professor Hotchner to pull him close and whisper in his ear all hot and gravely in that deep voice that he loved him back, but he _didn’t._ He only sat there staring back at him with eyes that he couldn’t understand. He didn’t know what those eyes were saying, but it wasn't love. 

“I don’t like Jack better than you,” he replied. Spencer scoffed; he was completely missing the point. “It’s a different feeling between the two of you.”

He took bait, though. The thing with Jack still stung. Everything stung, in fact. “Then why did you ignore me all day for him?”

“I told you I wasn’t going to be using my phone. I did not ignore you, you know that.”

“I didn’t agree to it.” 

“You didn’t need to,” he said. “I expected you to act like a grown up and deal with it. I expected you to understand. Apparently, you couldn’t handle it.”

“I _needed_ you.” 

“It’s going to be like that on Saturdays from now on, Spencer. That’s not going to change.”

“I want you all to myself!” he said, his voice terse. “I love you, Daddy.” 

“Oh, god, Spence.” Hotch’s voice dropped, and he pulled him close against his chest. Spencer got his shirt wet with tears as his chest heaved with sobs. He tried to swallow around the lump in his throat, but he couldn’t get a grip on himself. “Oh, baby. You’ll get used to it. Don’t cry… Daddy’s here for you. I’ve got you. I’ll take care of you if you can be a big boy for me.” 

“I can be a good boy,” he cried, muffled into his Daddy’s chest. 

“I said a big boy. A big boy who can be brave and not get so jealous.”

Spencer wiped his eyes and nose against his wet shirt and sniffled big. “M’not jealous.”

“Okay, baby, we’ll work on it,” he cooed. 

Spencer wasn’t jealous. Well, he wasn’t _completely_ jealous. He was desperate and mature, needy and logical, jealous and understanding, but most importantly he was head over heels in love. There was room for all of it inside him. He could feel them all at the same time no matter what Professor Hotchner said. He gripped tighter and nuzzled his face against his Daddy’s chest.

. . . 

Professor Hotchner made him breakfast in the morning and even as tired as he was after his run, Spencer barely ate a bite. His chest still felt tight and coiled from their fight the night before, and no amount of pampering was going to unwind it. The sex helped- it did- but it wasn’t enough. There was a nagging that he couldn’t ignore. (And Jack’s drawings tacked up on the fridge didn’t help as he moved his eggs around on the plate, either)

When he went home, things were slowly returning back to normal, but then Thursday rolled around. Professor Hotchner wasn’t answering his texts again. No good morning, no instructions. He didn’t pick up any phone calls. He was gone. Again. 

Spencer couldn’t handle him being gone again. 

He was sailing though the open air with no one to ground him. He was weightless in the worst sort of way. 

**Master? Where r u? s.**

**Master? R u ignoring me? s.**

**Master? I need u s.**

He shot them off like bullets, each loaded to the brim with expectations, and he continued until his thumbs were sore. How could he do this? Again? And it wasn’t even Saturday. 

Saturday. He sneered. How could Professor Hotchner promise to protect him and care for him, all the while throwing him to the wayside at the first possible opportunity? 

And now THURSDAY, too? He should BE THERE. He promised. He was _always_ there. 

Was.

Morning turned into afternoon and afternoon turned into evening. Spencer didn’t bother leaving his room save for class, and even then Professor Hotchner didn’t show up. In his place was some drab corduroy suit wearing Professor who showed powerpoints. Spencer ditched before the class was even halfway over. 

**Where r u? s.**

**I love u s.**

**Master? s.**

**Professor…? s.**

**Master pls… s.-**

Outside in the courtyard he ran right into Emily, knocking the coffee out of her hands. It spilled on the concrete with a _splat_. 

“Fuck!” he swore. “Shit, Emily, sorry. I didn’t see you there.” 

She looked at him funny, her initial flash of anger turning more into confusion, and she wiped some coffee off her sleeve. “Uh, don’t worry about it. I’ll get another one. You okay, though?”

Spencer looked down at his phone again. No new messages. “Okay? Yeah, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“You seem off.” She picked up her cup from the ground and tossed it into a trashcan. 

“Oh. Um, it’s- finals? They’re soon. I’m… nervous.” he murmured. As if. He could pass them with his eyes closed. 

“ _You?_ ” She laughed. “Nervous for a test? Aren’t those your superbowl?” 

Spencer pursed his lips. “Super Bowl? That’s football, right? I don’t know. Look, Emily, I have to go, sorry.” 

“Okay- well, I’ll see you around!” She called after him. “We still have to hangout!”

Spencer turned a bit as he walked off. “We will! Promise!” 

But he didn’t plan on it. He had more important things to think about than making nice with his almost-friends. 

Except for maybe one, and he was definitely a friend, not an almost-friend. Someone he got closer to than anyone else in the last few years, save for Ethan. 

Oliver. 

Oliver genius-kid, awkward-but-not-really, better-version-of-himself Owens. 

Oliver always-there-for-him Owens. 

He took out his phone and dialed. Still no messages from Hotch. It’d been nearly ten hours since he woke up and not even an _‘im busy’_ text.

“Hello?” 

“Hey, Oli.” Spencer said, clutching his cell tightly.

“Spence!” Oliver smiled, he could practically hear it. 

“How are you doing?”

“Great, actually, just finished up that paper I was telling you about. I submitted it for review today. How about you, on winter break yet?” 

“No, well, almost. Three more days. I was thinking…” he trailed off.

“You want to visit!” Oliver nearly shouted with excitement. “Cool! I can’t wait to see you again, Ace.”

“Hah, yeah. Well that, or you could come here? I don’t exactly have the money for a flight.” He paused. “Nor do I have a car. Or my license.” 

“Sure, I could manage a few days in D.C.- You don’t know how happy I am that you want to get together.”

“Cool.” Spencer breathed. He was… feeling better. Oliver threw him a life preserver. He wasn’t going to sink. “Same here. When do you think you could come? It’s kinda short notice.” 

“Since I just finished up my project, I can come whenever. How about Monday?” That was only four days away. At the rate things were going, Professor Hotchner still wouldn't be answering his calls, if he _ever_ did. 

He was on his own and he could make his own decisions if Master wouldn’t make them for him. 

“Perfect.” he said. “See you, then Oli.”

“Bye, Spence. I’ll text you the details in a day or two.” 

Spencer looked down at the necklace around his neck. Maybe it didn’t mean anything to Hotch after all… maybe he didn’t want to guide him. Maybe he didn’t want to be his Master? 

Everything was horrible. 

He rubbed his thumb over the smooth bumps of the metal compass. He really needed guidance. He really needed Professor Hotchner. 

Professor Hotchner wouldn’t have let him make plans with Oliver. He would have forbidden it without a doubt. He would have made Spencer stay in class until the end. He would have made him buy another coffee for Emily. He would have kissed him until he couldn’t stop smiling and made him get down on his knees… 

But now he had a family and his family was more important. 

Fuck Professor Hotchner! 

Fuck him. Fuck his family and his lame priorities that didn’t lie with him. 

He was just Hotch’s little fuck toy, until he wasn’t. 

He went right back to the dorm, slammed the door closed, and made Ethan’s day.

“You want to go out?” he asked, except it wasn’t a question. 

Ethan’s eyes lit up. “Hell yeah, man!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading! Can't believe you guys are still interested in this lmao. Love you all. ❤️


	32. A man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the last chap Spencer was ignored by prof hotch all day and he’s like wtfff and he calls up Oliver bc he was frustrated and sad. Then he told Oliver he wanted to go out~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For brillianthijinks lmao

### 

“I can’t believe you wanted to do this!” Ethan yelled over the noise of the bar. He was sporting a mischievous grin and trying to clink his beer bottle against Spencer’s but misjudging the distance grossly, hitting only air. 

“Me neither!” he yelled back. Really, he couldn’t. But he couldn’t be anywhere without thinking about Professor Hotchner, so why not think about him with his head screwed on wrong?

He took another gulp of his beer and felt his head spin smoothly around. It felt nice, distracting. And you know what? If Professor Hotchner wasn’t going to give a damn about him, he wasn’t going to give a damn about Professor Hotchner either. 

He’d show him how it feels to be madly in love and tossed to the curb like it’s nothing. 

Except Professor Hotchner didn’t love him… he never said it back. Not even once. 

“I need something stronger!” Spencer said, getting up. “Be right back!” He knocked into a few people weaving his way through the bar, finally making it up to the counter. The bartender slid him two shots, yellow and promising. 

A woman to his right turned to look at him with a smile. “Hey!” she chirped. Her voice was high pitched and reminded him of a bird. He couldn’t quite think which one. 

“Um, hi.” Spencer squinted at her. Long back hair, pink top; definitely a student from campus. 

He watched her puff out her chest and bat her eyelashes like a mating ritual from National Geographic. “One of those for me, cutie?”

“Uhhh… no?” He looked back towards the table. “It’s for Ethan.” As if she knew who Ethan even was. “Gotta go.”

She stuck out her bottom lip, pouting, but Spencer didn’t like the look of her all soft and curvy and pink. _Bleh._

Not the kind of person that could bend you over their lap and…

No! None of that tonight. 

“Shots!” Ethan cried. “My dude!” 

“Here.” Spencer handed him a glass. “Bottom’s up.” And with that, he knocked it back and the room danced. 

Ethan wanted to dance, too. He pulled him up from the booth and he didn’t resist as much as he should have. He closed his eyes and swayed to the beat blaring from the speakers, slurring out every line of the pop song that he barely knew yet somehow completely one-hundred-percent knew.

Ethan snickered at him, not that he cared. What he was doing barely constituted dancing but Ethan should be happy that he even got up at all, so he could take what he could get. 

When Spencer blinked Ethan had more shots in his hands, grinning at him. He tossed it back. The music was seeping into his skin and moving him about like a rag doll, each beat a separate section of the same hivemind. 

“Fuck!” Spencer yelled, drowned out by the noise of the room. He felt free and weightless and completely and utterly smashed. Nothing stuck in his mind long enough for any worries to take hold. It was just Ethan’s arm bumping into him as he danced, the beat of the music reverberating in his skull, and the liquor mashing up his brains into a deliriously happy soup. 

He didn’t remember getting home. Everything after the dance floor was a gray blur, all shapes and movements, unlike anything he’d ever stored in his memory before. Then again, he’d never gotten black out drunk either. 

Speaking of black out drunk, his head was _pounding_. A 36-person marching band was holding a concert inside his head. As soon as he sat up, the room was tipping. Nausea rose up in the back of his throat and he made a mad dash for the bathroom, nearly missing the sink, and throwing up the contents of last night’s events. 

Looking back at him in the mirror were red, sunken eyes and greasy hair. Gross. 

Another wave of nausea crashed into him and he dove for the toilet bowl, throwing up more liquid courage. The bowl felt cool against his cheek as he rested his head down. Right now he felt anything but courageous. His head was throbbing. His body felt tired and weak. He wanted to go back to bed, but he didn’t want to get up, and he might need the toilet again. 

Though his back was aching from sleeping on the couch, he laid down on the cold tile of the bathroom floor and it felt like a veritable heaven.

A few hours later he woke again, the nausea passed, though his head still hurt. This time when he got up he tossed back a few Advil and downed a bottle of water. It was nearly three in the afternoon and he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Back in the main room, Ethan was laying on the couch with a gatorade in hand looking miles better than he felt. 

“Ouch, dude. Rough morning?” 

“Neeugh.” Spencer grunted, flopping down next to him. He leaned his head on Ethan’s shoulder and sighed. “I feel like shit. How do you _not_ feel like shit?”

“Practice, young grasshopper.” He grinned. “Lots and lots of alcoholic practice. Where do you think I go every weekend? I’ll give you a hint: It isn’t the library.” 

Spencer flushed. Right. The _library_ , okay. That’s where _he_ went on the weekends, not his Professor’s house to get fucked up the ass. 

Actually, it never occurred to him to think about what Ethan was doing in his spare time. 

He shrugged. 

“So… what was that about, anyway? Why the sudden change of heart? Not that I’m complaining.” He looked down at him. “In fact, if I could figure it out, I’d made it happen more often. You really cut loose. It was fun!” 

“Um, I don’t know… stress?” He certainly couldn’t tell him what was really going on. 

“Is it about that guy? Oscar?”

“Oliver. And no. He’s fine. We’re friends.” 

“Friends? You sure that’s a good idea? You just broke up.” 

“Yeah, it’s fine. I don’t really want to talk about it.” 

“If it’s the stressful thing that made yo-”

“It’s _not_. Please drop it?” he huffed.

“Fine, fine. You got it, dude. But I’m here if you want to actually talk instead of drowning your problems.” 

“Thanks, but no.” Spencer fished around in his pocket and pulled out his cellphone. 

[0] Messages. 

Great.

. . . 

Friday came and went with nothing from Professor Hotchner. Saturday didn’t even promise much except for the fact that finals were taking place, and Spencer doubted that Professor Hotchner would show up for them anyway.

He was right. Corduroy Professor was at the podium again, handing out scantrons and test booklets. 

Spencer didn’t need a test booklet. 

He filled in every single bubble with the letter ‘A’. 

A for Aaron, right?

Professor Hotchner could’t get rid of him _that_ easily.

He could ignore him, avoid him, not love him— fuck! Why didn’t he _love_ him?

After everything they’d been through? After all the sex, the talking, and the way that he opened up about himself, the way he held him at night— why didn’t he love him? 

Spencer loved _him._ God, he loved him so much it hurt. 

Not even five minutes into the exam, Spencer flung his scantron down on the desk at the front of class, ~~the one Professor Hotchner hiked him up over and screwed him on,~~ and left.

He knew exactly where he was going. Despite the uncertainty swelling up in his chest, he boarded a bus going out of town and didn’t let himself think twice about it. He leaned his head against the glass and stared out at the passing streets. It was a good thing that he had a stellar sense of direction because the bus only brought him so far. 

He got off on a corner that signaled the last stop and started making his way down the street. Four miles in his feet started getting sore but that’s only because he had his loafers on. All the running he did in the morning, save for the past few days, built up his endurance considerably. Now that he thought about it, he was able to run over a mile straight. Huh. 

Wishing for his sneakers wouldn’t bring them, though. By the looks of it, walked for a little over an hour, and his destination was still another hour away. The sky overhead was looking gray and unwelcoming; he hoped it wouldn’t start to rain. 

By the time he arrived, apprehension was bubbling in his stomach.

This was a good idea, right?

Right. It was. He deserved it. 

He knocked on the door. 

It opened. 

A little boy swung it back, blonde hair and blue eyes everywhere. “Hi!”

Spencer waved. “Um… hi.” 

From deep in the house, a voice sent chills down his spine. “Jack! What are you—? You can’t open the door to strangers!”

Jack was scooped up from the floor, giggling and pointing at Spencer. “Daddy, a man is here!”

“ _Spencer,_ ” Professor Hotchner gasped. 

“Professor.” Spencer tried to keep himself from running, shouting, crying, or all of the above. 

Professor Hotchner spun on his heel and slammed the door right in Spencer’s face. A few minutes later, the door opened again and he came out to the porch, sans child. 

“What on earth are you doing here, Spencer?” he hissed. “You can’t just show up to my home like this, not when... not ever! Anyone could have seen you, my God! What are you thinking?” 

“I’m _thinking_ that I didn’t even know if you were dead or alive!” Spencer yelled, not even attempting to keep his voice down. He took a step closer to him. “I was _thinking_ that you haven't so much as said a word to me for DAYS!” 

“Spencer, look, I—” 

“You what?! You left me all alone! You don’t want anymore, is that it? You hate me? You think I’m just good for a quick fuck? Is that all I am to you?” He pushed forward into Professor Hotchner’s personal space, staring up at him, shooting daggers of accusation. 

“No! And keep your voice down,” he spat. “I’m not going to do this here. Or inside. You need to leave. I can’t— Spencer, this isn’t— I have a lot on my plate, I can’t do this.” 

Spencer took a tentative step back. His heart started thumping madly in his chest. He was panicking. No— “Are you breaking up with me?”

“We’re not together, Spencer.” 

“Wha— Fuck you!” he yelled. The room was closing in. Or, the porch? The entire sky? God, why was this happening? 

“Be an adult, Spencer, you knew—”

“I didn’t know anything!” he shouted. “I thought you— I thought— Ah!” he took another step back and stumbled on the steps, falling down on his ass. “Ow! Fuck!” 

Professor Hotchner rushed down to him. “Are you okay? How’s your foot? Here, let me take a look.” He grabbed at the ankle that hit the steps and yanked his pants up. “It’s not broken, maybe sprained.” 

“Forget about my foot, ow! I thought you might- might love me back, I’m so fucking stupid. Why did you give me this necklace? Why? If you don’t love me, then why? Why do you call me baby? Or angel? Or baby boy? Why don’t you want me anymore? What did I do? Why won’t you talk to me? Wh-wh—” his chest racked with sobs and hot tears started to fall down his cheeks.

Professor Hotchner dropped his head and groaned. “I can’t do this here in full view of the neighborhood, Spencer. Please keep your voice down.”

“No! We _are_ going to do this! R-Right here! Right now!” He kicked his leg back. It hit Professor Hotchner in the thigh. Spencer saw red. He pushed him back, hands thudding squarely his chest, and oh my God, he hit Master! “Goddamn it, please!”

Professor Hotchner glared at him, steam coming out of his ears. It took all he had not to shrivel up and die. Overhead, the gray sky grew darker. A single drop of rain thudded down on the ground next to him. 

“ _No_ , we are _not,_ ” he barked. He brushed off his shirt, got to his feet and Spencer followed suit, still breathing heavy. “You’ve crossed a line, Spencer. Go home. I’m done.” 

“No! I’m not leaving!” he screamed, “I’m not leaving! I’m not—”

A sharp sting on the back of his neck dug into his skin and he swatted at it. “Ow—!”

Then he _saw._

“NO!” The color left his face. “No! Please, no! No, no, no! Professor, no, please! Master! You can’t- you _can’t_ take that! Please, please, Master, Aaron! Please!”

“Go home, Spencer,” he hissed. “I’m done.” He was halfway to the door, didn’t even look back when he shouted after him, his voice desperate and strained. 

“My necklace!” 

It started to pour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Thanks for reading! ❤️ 😝~~
> 
> I'M SORRY


	33. Pineapple Pizza

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the last chap Spencer got pissed screwed his final and showed up at prof hotchs house and PH got pissed etc and took his necklace and Spencer was like boo hoo

He didn’t need Professor Hotchner. No. No. No. 

_No._

He needed Professor Hotchner so goddamn much. 

He needed him like he needed air. 

There was hole in his chest where all his certainty used to be. He could fall into it if he let himself, it would be so easy, just close your eyes and feel the air rush past until you don’t know which way is up anymore. 

Hell, he’s already there. Since he’s been with Professor Hotchner, months have passed wherein he hasn’t made a single decision for himself. 

That’s what Master was for. 

But Master turned his back, and everything looked wrong. 

He didn’t know what to do. He was lost. He couldn’t find up. 

Rubber on the soles of his shoes wasn’t the only thing that was slowly worn down into nothing. It was the same way with his sense of self: Who was he anymore?

He couldn’t answer. 

He was a boy who liked books, a boy who would do anything to get the grade, to learn something new, to _know_. He’s a cumslut, cockwhore, Master’s little pet and he’d do what he’s told. 

He’s Spencer. Who is Spencer? 

Moonlight was shining in between the falling rain, coming down in sheets on the concrete. His shoes were worn down to the tread and his clothes were soaked by the time he got back to the dorm. 

Ethan was on the couch and looked over when he walked in. “Hey, man!”

Spencer grumbled something noncommittal and made a beeline for the bedroom. Crashed. 

Ethan stepped into the room, face strewn in confusion, or worry, or something; Spencer didn’t know, didn’t care, couldn’t see it with his face pressed into his tear stained pillow. 

“Spence…?” It was soft, prodding, nervous. 

Spencer didn’t cry. Not in front of other people. Not in front of anyone that wasn’t Master. 

“Spence, what’s wrong? Are you okay, dude?”

He was still at the door. Spencer didn’t want him to come any closer, afraid that if he did the floodgates would finally burst and he’d never be able to patch them back up. 

He grunted; it was all he had. There were no words for what he was going through. How would you tell your best friend you got raped up the ass until you liked it and begged for more and then never stopped? 

How would you tell him you’re broken and the only one who knew how to fix you didn’t _want_ you anymore?

There was one last try before he left the doorway empty. “I don’t know… what’s going on... but I’m here if you need me.” 

Then he cried. He didn’t leave bed for two more days. 

The only reason he got up was because he promised Oliver they’d meet, and he flew all the way to D.C. just for him. 

His fingers stilled on the keypad of his phone five times that morning. The internal debate on whether or not to text Master was warring in his mind. 

He _had_ to. He _couldn’t._ But he _had_ to. Didn’t he? 

He didn’t. He couldn’t. 

He’d have to pick out his own outfit, decide whether or not to go on his run, and find his own breakfast. He didn’t enjoy doing any of those things but they wouldn’t get done if he didn’t. 

He met Oliver at the bus station on campus. 

Oliver’s hair was wild from being pressed up against the window, all mussed up on the left side. Spencer grinned at it, and Oliver was quick to pat it down.

“Spence!”

Spencer couldn’t help but teeter nervously on his feet. “Oli.”

“You look good, man. I can’t believe I’m actually seeing you again! How’s D.C. been treating you? You going to give me a tour of the place?” Oliver lugged his travel bag over his shoulder and came close, wrapping an arm around Spencer in a half-hug. 

“I— a tour? Yeah. Yeah, I can,” he stuttered. 

“I’m dying to see campus, actually. I almost went here, did I tell you that? And I’ve been to D.C. a lot, when I do my consultant work, but I never had time to go out.”

“All I’ve got is time,” Spencer said. He nodded towards his dorm and Oliver fell in step beside him. He had to quit his moody attitude or Oliver was going to hate him and regret coming down here. He really liked Oli, and their texting always made his day. He forced a smile. “Like I said before, I’m on Winter Break so we can do whatever. I’ve got no plans. We’ll have fun.” 

“Perfect.” He grinned, looking sideways at him. “I have you all to myself then.”

. . . 

Once Spencer got over his pouting, seeing Oliver turned out to be better than he expected. Meeting up again for the second time wasn’t as awkward as he expected it to be. In fact, it wasn’t awkward at all; it was like seeing an old friend. He only spent a day with Oliver in person at the conference, but they’d spent months texting and it showed.

The other upside to having Oliver as a friend was that he was just as much of a nerd as he was, so bringing him around campus to check the labs and both of the libraries didn’t bore him in the slightest. Oliver looked excited and a bit nostalgic, and Spencer could see his future in that; one day he would have to leave university too, and he hadn’t the slightest clue what he was going to do when he wasn’t here. 

University was everything he’d known for the past six years and saying goodbye seemed unthinkable. 

They stood on the sidewalk in front of the dining hall. It was an older building than most on campus, and it towered above the rest. Smoke from the kitchen billowed out of the roof and disappeared into the sky.

“Are you hungry?” Spencer asked. 

Oliver’s nose was red and shiny and he had both arms wrapped around his midsection like an eskimo. He smiled anyway. “I could eat.”

If it were anyone else, they would have looked at Oliver’s shivering, seen the way his fingertips grew pale, noticed the shining in the blue of his eyes, and realized that smile was more than excitement over all-you-can-eat dining hall food. 

It wasn’t, though. It was Spencer, and he was lost in his own self-indulgent world of masters, rules, and red bottoms.

When he swiped them into the hall Oliver went right for the pizza. He sat down with four slices- two peperoni, one ham and pineapple, and a veggie. Spencer himself couldn’t decide on what to get so he sat down with a coke.

Oliver downed an entire pepperoni slice before he could even take a sip. The cheese was hot with steam still coming off of it, sliding off the slice as he bit into it. It looked delicious, and Oliver looked utterly content. 

“My God,” he said, in between bites. “I missed campus food. There's something special in it, I swear. It’s like magic.” He plucked a pepper off his veggie slice and crunched it. “What, nothing for you? It was your idea to eat, eat!”

“I don’t know, I’m not, uh, hungry, I guess.” 

“Oh come on, I’ve been with you for the past five hours so I know you haven’t eaten anything. Do you want a burger or something? I saw chinese.”

“Eh, I can’t choose.” He picked at his fingernail, “Too many options.”

Oliver slid the tray across the table with all his paper plates on it. “Here, then. You like pineapple? Have mine.” 

Spencer shook his head, “No, I can’t.”

“I don’t mind, really. Besides, Spence, the food is free, I could just get another.” He laughed and looked pointedly down at the pizza. Spencer suddenly felt like a child being prodded by his mother. 

The cheese was still looking hot and gooey and his stomach rumbled under his sweater. _Fine._ He reached for it and took a bite. The cheese was better than he thought, so utterly delicious, hot and greasy, he closed his eyes. The pineapple was sweet, but the ham was tangy and chewy and not good as all. He wished he could spit that part out but Oliver was being so nice he didn’t think he should. Master would say it was bad manners, anyway. 

“What’s that face for?”

“Hm?” He opened his eyes. 

“Your face is all scrunched up. You don’t like hampineapple?”

“No!” he said. “I do, thank you.” Without stopping, he took another bite to prove it.

Oliver laughed. “No, you don’t!” 

Spencer wondered if he were that transparent. Professor Hotchner always knew what he was thinking and now Oliver did too. It was only _pizza,_ but still.

Oliver took it out of his hands and slid the pepperoni slide towards him. “Any better?”

Spencer nodded, breaking out into a little smile that he couldn't hold back, and then gasped. “Oli! You can’t eat that! I just bit it, ew!” 

“Hm?” His mouth was full, but he talked around it. “Wha? I don’car.” 

“Germs… though…” 

Oliver swallowed the pineapple pizza he was just eating and leaned back in his chair. “Oh come on, no one ever died from sharing a slice. Besides, people swap a lot more spit than that on a daily basis. Be happy I didn’t kiss you if you’re worried about germs.”

Spencer flushed and nearly choked on his food. “I-I— it’s actually safer— ah,” he faltered. 

“Oh!” Oliver laughed. “Sorry, you’re embarrassed. That’s cute.” 

That time Spencer really did choke on his pizza.

. . . 

After dinner they decided to call it a day and head back to the dorms. Oliver was chattering on about Dr. Who and even though he should have been interested, Spencer couldn’t keep his mind in one place long enough to follow. 

It was Hotch, Hotch, HOTCH. Where was he? What was he doing? Was he thinking about him? Did he miss him? Would he ever call? Did he piss him off that much by showing up to his house that he’s done with him for good? Will Spencer ever see him ever again? Does he hate him? Were they really… done?

“Don’t you think so?” Oliver said, nudging his shoulder. 

Spencer briefly looked up. He hardly noticed where they were walking, let alone what Oliver was saying. “Hm? Uh, yeah.” 

“I knew you’d agree.” Oliver smiled. “Nobody ever gets that, but we’re so alike. God, I love talking to you.”

Shit. Spencer cleared his throat. Guilt. His stomach felt heavy. 

They reached the dorm, Spencer invited him inside. Ethan was sitting with Elle on the couch watching a movie, Terminator 3 from the looks of it. 

“Hi, Spence!” Elle looked over to him. “Who's this?”

“Hey, I’m Oliver.” He smiled at her, making his way over to the main area. “I’m spencer’s friend from New York..”

“Right.” Ethan squinted at him. “His friend from New York... Well, I’m Ethan. Nice to finally meet you.” 

“Yeah, you too. Spencer’s told me all about you. Only the good stuff though, right, Ace?”

Spencer flushed, turned to Oliver and nodded. “Uh, yeah.” Ethan was looking at him and mouthing ‘Ace?’ and he wasn’t being subtle. “Um. So... yeah, I don’t really like Terminator 3. Do you want to hang out in my room, Oli?”

Oliver nodded, then waved at Ethan and Elle. He followed Spencer into the bedroom and Spencer sighed as soon as he got inside. 

“Everything okay?” Oliver sat down at the desk chair. 

Spencer looked up at him. He had his back against the door and was half-way slumped down it. “Sorry, Oli, long day. Long week, actually. I’ve been going through some… relationship problems.” 

Oliver shot his eyebrows up. “Oh? I didn’t know you… had a, um.” 

Spencer blushed. “Boyfriend? Ex, I guess.” Close enough. 

“Oh, ex.” He looked curious. “I’m sorry.” 

Spencer frowned, then sat himself down on his bed. He wanted to melt into it and forget everything but he couldn’t do that with Oliver around. That was exactly why he didn’t keep friends. You can’t be by yourself at the drop of a hat if you need to. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

“I know. Breakups are difficult though. I’m right here if you need me.” 

“Thanks, Oli. Would it be okay if I went to sleep though? I’m exhausted,” he pouted. 

Oliver smiled, “Mind? I’m ecstatic. I’m absolutely beat from traveling today. I can’t wait to pass out.” 

After he threw himself back on the bed he looked back up with a frown. “Um, do think you’d mind sharing the bed though? The other one is Ethan’s and him and Elle are probably going to be up all night watching movies on the couch.” 

Oliver shook his head and nudged off his shoes. “Not at all. Just don't kick me, Ace.” He peeled his shirt off over his head and his trousers down leaving himself in only boxers. “This okay?”

Spencer swallowed. Professor Hotchner would be _so_ mad. “Um, uh. Yes.” 

Let him be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of u that don’t see me on tumblr...
> 
> Hey, guys. So, as you know, I’ve been updating profHotch pretty regularly since starting it, however I won’t be doing that anymore bc of work/school. I’m going to be starting back up with my last three classes in Uni, so I’ll be pretty tied up from March till August seeing as I also work full time. Also might be changing jobs so that’s gonna be crazy too 
> 
> So I’m just letting guys know what’s up in terms of my fics or lack thereof. Probably lack thereof
> 
> Ohhh also if I’m not commenting on ur fics the same as before I’m just busy af, just won’t have time to read so much fic 
> 
> Ty for reading ❤️


	34. That’s Not Necessary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the last chapter... Oliver came to visit Spencer on campus. Spencer showed him around. They had a bunch of fun and Oliver ended up having to share a bed with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I was gonna proof read this but then I hit post instead of preview sooo... if there’s anything funky in here, that’s why

Spencer woke up with Oliver clinging to his back. He was smaller than Professor Hotchner was, leaner, and his breathing tickled the back of his neck. He was warm, too; really warm and cozy. It wasn’t the same, but it wasn’t… bad. 

“Spence?” Oliver mumbled, shifting slightly behind him. “Yu‘wake?”

“Um…” Spencer stalled. He didn’t intend to end up with Oliver wrapped around him when he invited him to sleep in his bed last night. _Am I naive?_ he thought, _or just an idiot?_

_No wonder Master makes all my decisions for me._

“Do you want some coffee?” Oliver asked. He shifted behind him. “I’m willing to bet good money you have some around here somewhere.”

Spencer looked up at him with sleepy eyes and flopped back down on the pillow, falling asleep. There was no way he could deal this early, and shut his eyes. 

Two hours later when he woke again, the bed was empty. 

He checked his phone. Still nothing. 

And, right, Oliver. 

Once in the bathroom he brushed his teeth, went through his routine. He still couldn’t shake the way that Hotch told him to do everything, and so what? If he was free now, free to do what he wanted then surely he could _choose_ to do things the way Master liked. It’s a choice. 

Maybe not the run, though. 

And _oh,_ the sharpie was starting to fade, the last one he sent Master: SLUT

It was so faint… right about to leave for good. 

He pulled on a pair of joggers and tried not to cry about it. 

Oliver was in the common room and so was Ethan, seeming like a couple of old friends the way they were going back and forth with each other. When Spencer walked up, though, the conversation dropped like a fly. 

“Look who’s awake,” Ethan said. 

Oliver took a coffee mug down from his lips and smiled brightly. “Ace! You’re finally up!”

Everything about it felt like a dream. Ethan and Oliver didn’t talk. What was going on lately? 

“You slept like a log. And I’m talking Sequoia,” Oliver laughed, shooting him a big grin. 

Ethan frowned. 

“Sequoiadendron giganteum? That wouldn’t even fit on campus, let alone in my bed.” Spencer rubbed his eyes and looked away, towards the coffee maker. 

“What are you guys talking about?”

Oliver turned twoards Ethan. “The world's largest tree.”

He rolled his eyes. “You two are such nerds, I swear.” 

“I’m not—,” Spencer said.

Oliver chuckled. “We are.”

Ethan looked back at Spencer again. “Me and Oli made plans for tonight, dude, and there's no way to back out.”

“No! I—”

Oliver thrusted his mug out. “Here. Drink first.” The smile on his face was hard to say no to. 

So he came closer and took a sip. It was delicious. Of course it was; it was coffee. “What kind of plans?” 

Ethan snickered, looked at Oliver. “I’m not telling, or you’ll say no!”

“Oli…?” he pleaded. 

“Sorry, Ace. Sworn to secrecy.” He mimed a lock on his mouth and threw away the key. “But! We have all day to hang out, just you and me. Come sit, we can watch Dr. Who until our eyes bleed.” 

With a grunt, Spencer complied. Rotting his brain with television was exactly what he needed. “Move over.”

“Where? Squish in! There’s no more room!” 

“I’m leaving anyway,” Ethan said, looking at his phone while getting up. “I’m gonna meet Elle before her next class.” 

Oliver looked back at him while he was toeing on his shoes. “Text me later!”

Spencer rolled his eyes and sank into the couch. “So, you guys are friends now?” 

“Jealous?” He winked. 

“No!” 

Oliver laughed, and nudged him with his shoulder. “Kidding. Ethan is really nice, though, even if he did give me the third degree. Talking to that guy is like being in an interrogation room. I think he likes me enough though, he really wanted to hang.”

“You talked a lot? What’d you, uh, tell him?” He took another sip of coffee and looked down the hall at nothing in particular. 

“Nothing really. Just the story of my life and then some. My social security number, Mother’s maiden. You know.” 

Well at least that got a smile out of him. “Oh, screw you Oli.” 

“I wish,” he scoffed. 

Spencer stopped thinking and turned. “What?” 

Oliver turned red, embarrassed for the time that Spencer could recall. “Nothing! Kidding, obviously. Bad joke. I’m sorry.”

Right... a joke. People made those. Spencer needed to relax. He looked at the tv blaring commercials. “Which season are you on?”

“Five,” he said. “And i’m sorry if I overstepped with Ethan… I don’t often get the chance to meet new people my age. Well, you know that. I just, yeah. Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” Spencer shrugged, “I get it.” 

He just hoped that they didn’t do too much talking. It would only take pulling on one tiny thread to unravel his whole ball of lies. 

“Let’s watch,” he pointed the romper at the tv. Oliver nodded and nestled himself into the couch. It was going to be a long day.

. . .

It was long. Just not in the way that Spencer anticipated. There wasn’t an endless expanse of awkward tension, but instead lots and lots of laughing and talking about interesting things that he hardly ever got to talk about. Obscure books, poets that he thought that only he and his monster cared about, and far fetched Dr. Who conspiracy theories. Spending the day with Oliver was akin to spending the day with _himself_ , only Oliver was funnier and gave him constant ego boots. 

He should have found a genius friend a long time ago. It would have saved him a lot of loneliness growing up. Didn’t matter though, because Oliver could understand that too. 

They stopped by the Two Bean Problem for coffee and lunch and took another walk around campus after their eyes were starting to hurt from too much television. 

“I’m telling you, there’s something about the way NY makes a Latte.” Oliver smiled around his paper cup. 

Spencer looked over at him with his own cup up against his face, warming his hands and his wind bitten nose. Oliver looked like Rudolph the way his nose was getting demolished by both the cold wind and the hot steam. SPencer figured he looked about the same and smiled. 

“I don’t know, I’ve never been to New York. Las Vegas would be hard to beat, I’d imagine, and DC isn’t too bad either.”

“Mmh, nothing like NY though. We’ve got the good stuff.”

“You know, i’d think that coffee is universally of good quality since Coffee is the world’s second largest traded commodity after crude oil with over two billion cups sold daily. A third of all tap water in America is brewed into coffee, actually. That means that nearly every state in America is producing large amounts of it.”

“Yeah, but, like, think of the art of it all.” Oliver winked. “But also, yeah, NY produces approximately 8 million of those. It’s a dense state. Lots of people. It’s a melting pot of technique, and I think they’re perfected it.” He took a sip. “DC is good too. Never had Vegas.”

“Vegas coffee tastes like home,” Spencer said quietly. 

Oliver tipped up the side of his mouth in a half smile and stuck his arm between Spencer’s linking them together. “You’ll have to come visit me, and I’ll show you. Maybe you can show me Vegas one day, too.”

Spencer gulped, looked up, and felt hyper aware of Oliver standing so close. “Um, yeah.”

Oliver seemed content with his stupid reply and kept walking, pulling him along. There wasn’t any reason he couldn’t go visit Oliver in NY now. He could hop on a plane tonight if he wanted to. He could go next week, next month… God, he hoped he wasn’t still broken up with in a month. 

No, _not_ broken up with. Rejected? Tossed aside? Unowned? Whatever he was, he hoped he wasn’t for long. Could Professor Hotchner really discard him so easily? Was he going to stonewall him forever? What if he showed him that he could be a good boy for him? What if he showed him that he wasn’t the kind of bratty boy that failed his tests on purpose and showed up to his house unannounced and spoke with his kid. 

Because looking back at it… that wasn’t the _best_ move for him to make, really. He shouldn’t have brought a child into the line of fire. 

On the other hand, Professor Hotchner was being such a _jerk!_ He never had a Master before, hell he never even had a boyfriend or a girlfriend before, but he didn’t think that they were supposed to treat him that way, tossing him aside when he wasn’t convenient. 

“Spencer?” Oliver was looking at him, stopped in his tracks. He didn’t even realise that they stopped walking. 

“Hm? Sorry. I was thinking.” 

Oliver smiled. A lock of his blonde hair fell from behind his ear into his eyes and he swiped it back. “You do a lot of that. You okay? You looked… sad.”

“M’okay,” he mumbled. “It’s… I was thinking about, I don't know, my ex, I guess.” 

His eyes flickered something dark. “Oh, Ace, I’m sorry. Can i give you a hug?”

Spencer shrugged, nodded. A hug from his best friend, or second best friend, (how did he get two of them?) sounded perfect. Oliver pulled him close and everything went warm and cozy. All the bad thoughts about Professor Hotchner got pushed to the wayside in favor of Oliver’s comforting cinnamon smell and his long, slender fingers massaging circles on his back. 

When Oliver pulled back Spencer shot him a grateful smile and decided that he would be the one to link their arms together this time. “Another lap around campus?”

. . . 

After more social interaction than he’s had in ages, Spencer got pushed into even more social interaction. 

Oliver pulled him out the door by the arm, with Ethan trailing behind, a grin plastered on his face, and he walked him straight into a nightmare. Three blocks off mainstreet sat a bar that looked like any other from the outside; same gray concrete, same metal doors. 

Inside was another story: rainbow _everywhere._

Telling Ethan he was gay was a huge mistake. Oliver, too, for that matter. And letting them speak to each other? That was the third and final nail in the coffin. 

“So whadd’you think?” Ethan pulled him farther inside and he watched his last chance of escape slip away. 

“It’s…” Great, he lost his ability to talk. 

“It’s amazing,” Oliver beamed at Ethan, then turned towards him. “Come on, Ace, you can’t say it’s not even… interesting? I know you have something going on up there.” He poked him lightly on the forehead. 

“I…” Nope, still nothing. 

Oliver slipped up close into his personal space and spoke earnestly in his ear, “Let me take your mind off that ex, huh?”

The club was _really_ hot. Maybe even a thousand degrees, where was the thermostat? “That’s not… that's not necessary.” He gulped.


	35. I Would Have Never

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the last chapter, Oliver and Ethan became friends and dragged Spencer out to a gay bar/club. He’s still reeling over the lost of PH but at least his crazy friends are making it hard for him to do that.

_“It’s amazing,” Oliver beamed at Ethan, then turned towards him. “Come on, Ace, you can’t say it’s not even… interesting? I know you have something going on up there.” He poked him lightly on the forehead._

_“I…” Nope, still nothing._

_Oliver slipped up close into his personal space and spoke earnestly in his ear, “Let me take your mind off that ex, huh?”_

_The club was _really_ hot. Maybe even a thousand degrees, where was the thermostat? “That’s not… that's not necessary,” he gulped.  
_

He could actually feel the smile that played out on Oliver’s lips before he drew back, that’s how close he was. It lingered. 

“I’ll get us drinks!” Ethan, always the thinker, darted off into the crowd. 

“Look, if you don’t want to be here, we can go back,” Oliver said. “I just thought…” 

“No. I’m sorry.” Spencer had to nearly shout above the music. “I’m being a ‘buzzkill’. It was nice of you to, uh, think of this. I just need some alcohol.”

“That’s the spirit! Hey, Ethan told me you’re killer on the dance floor.”

“Yeah, okay, what a nerd. He was messing with you. He does that. I can _not_ dance.”

“You sure? He seems like a genuine type of guy. But maybe I should make my own conclusion. Dance with me?” Olive’s bottom lip was squished under his teeth like he was biting back his excitement. 

Spencer rolled his eyes. He didn’t like the loud, pulsing music that he had to strain to hear Oliver over, or the flashing lights, but he did the way all the sensory processing was making it impossible to think about anything else. “You’re not going to let up are you?” 

“It’s for science. I have to know if my hypothesis is correct.” He laughed. 

“Ethan!” Spencer’s eyes lit up when he saw him pushing throught the crowd back towards them. “Give that to me, thank you.” 

He took a pink solo cup out of his hands and downed a gulp. It burned his throat and warmed him up from the inside out. “Fine.”

“Fine?” Oliver grinned. Ethan cocked an eyebrow. “Awesome! C’mon.” He grabbed his free hand and pulled him towards a more diluted part of the crowd. 

“Have fun in a gay bar by yourself!” Spencer shouted back at Ethan who looked like he just had the rug slipped out from under him. 

“Wow, that's how you treat your friends?” Oliver let go of his hand, leaning in to talk, and moving his hips in an entirely too natural fashion for someone who claimed to be anti-social. 

“He had it coming.” Spencer scoffed. 

Oliver seemed not to care, tipping his cup back and moving alongside the beat. Like a lifeline, Spencer knocked back his own drink and let it work its magic down in the pit of his belly. He tried to remember what exactly he did on the dancefloor last time, but the memories were hazy like they were underwater. Useless!

“Close your eyes, feel it.” Oliver grabbed his hand and guided him back and forth. “You know, I like actually having someone to dance with for once.” 

Spencer looked up, caught an honest look on his face, and moved his hips a bit to the _bop, bop, bop_ playing overhead. At least he had people who cared about him. 

He could be alone. He could be alone in his room crying over a middle aged man who dumped him—

“You got it, Ace.” Oliver winked, drawn out like a feature film, and moved closer. 

Oh, what was that? The alcohol was making him feel butterflies inside. 

—Besides, he could cry over a middle aged man who dumped him in a gay bar too.

Oliver gyrated closer, not quite touching but definitely teetering on the edge of it. 

He didn’t care. Nothing mattered so long as he was all alone. Nothing mattered without his Master. 

Scuff him up, mar him; what did it matter anyway? 

He closed his eyes to the image of Oliver’s smiling face, then danced to the darkness of his eyelids and the multicolored flashes of light passising over them. 

He tossed back his cup, caught the last bit of liquor on his tongue, let it slip into his bloodstream, loosening him up like taffy. 

The cup was pried from his hand, and he peeked to see Oliver sliding his empty into his own, and grinning back at him. 

“Having fun yet?” he asked.

All Spencer could do was nod his head. He reached out and grabbed Oliver’s hand like his own personal anchor so he wouldn’t float away. Oliver’s fingers were lively and moving, pulling him closer and steering him to the rhythm overhead. 

“Yeah,” Spencer murmured, even though the question was already gone and his answer was too quiet. Yeah, he was having fun. 

Then there was a warm grip at his side that dug so softly into him. “Hmm,” he mumbled out in response. He couldn’t be heard for the second time, not with the club music threatening to break an eardrum or two, though the reverberation in his chest may have been felt, perhaps, with how they were pressed up against each other. 

Spencer thought maybe Oliver did feel it, if the way he squeezed his hand and chuckled was a response. When he looked up, and Oliver was looking down, blue eyes shiny and bright, there was a moment- just a moment- and he wasn’t saying that he would- or that he didn’t love his Master- /definitely/ not saying that- but there was a moment when he thought he might like to kiss him. 

A kiss would be fun. Oliver looked like he had soft lips. 

“Everything okay, Spence?” 

He blinked, snapped out of his reverie. “Yeah, Oli. Just… drunk.”

“Off one drink? Cheap date.” He winked. “I’m a six drink kind of guy.” 

“We’ll have to get some more drinks in you then,” he said. 

Oliver’s breath came out hard and he missed a beat on the song; it sent them off-rhythm for a few steps until he righted it again. “Is that so, Dr. Reid?”

Spencer snorted. “I’m not a Dr.” Oliver was leaning into him, maybe he _was_ drunk. 

“Not yet!” He was really close. Spencer shivered at the breath that tingled his ear. “But you will be, Ace.”

Did he notice the shiver? Oliver pulled back, but for a split second he felt lips against the skin between his ear and cheekbone, and there was no reason for that to happen, really. 

“I- I don’t want to dance anymore,” Spencer said. 

Oliver slowed his movements, nodded. “Want to find Ethan?”

Spencer looked around and didn’t see anyone but nameless strangers. “Yeah.”

Ethan was tipsy, topsy, turvy, talking with a guy dressed in an AC/DC tank top who was listing all the reasons why Axl Rose was a god among men, when the two stumbled up and hand in hand. 

“Well, well…” Ethan grinned. He cocked a drunken eyebrow, looked at their hands, looked back at his new friend, and then barked up a laugh. 

“What’s so funny?” the new guy asked. He looked over at Spencer and Oliver with a frown. 

“Oh, nothing. Just looks like someone made up.” He winked. 

Spencer blushed- a hot, stomach dropping blush that sent adrenaline rushing into his system. 

“Made up…?” Oliver turned toward Ethan. “What do you mean, man?”

Ethan looked at Spencer searching for something, finding nothing, and blundering on. He took another sip of beer and burped. “Well, ‘cause you know. Right? ‘Cause...” He turned towards his new friend. “Josh, Axl Rose could definitely hit a C note. I’m with you, dude.”

Josh nodded serenely. “Exactly. The money note is where it’s at, and that man can kill it.”

“Wait,“ Oliver started. He stepped closer to Ethan. 

Spencer wringed his hands together nervously and got moved almost inbetwen Oliver and Ethan. “He just, he meant- Oliver- uh.”

“Hey, I gotta get another drink. I’ll get more for everyone,” Ethan said, laughing dry. “‘Cept you dude, sorry, they’re like $7 each, you’re on your own.”

Josh nodded and looked from Spencer to Oliver after Ethan left and spun on his heel. Spencer didn’t care if he left. 

“What was he talking about?” Oliver shouted over the music. 

Spencer dropped his head, groaning. “Uh… yeah, I may have told him a little white lie.”

“A lie?” Oliver let go of his hand. “What lie? About me? What did you tell him? Ace…?”

Spencer looked to the side. He watched as people filtered in and out of the main room into the back. “It wasn’t bad, Oli, I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d find out. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything.”

Oliver leaned in. “What? I can’t hear you.”

“I said—” he shouted, “I said—” someone came by and knocked into his back. “Ow! Oli, let’s talk somewhere else.”

Oliver nodded, a scowl still on his face, and Spencer pulled him toward a bright blue neon sign. Inside the bathroom the music was muted and it smelled like artificial soap. Oliver leaned against the sink. “Are you going to tell me what's going on?” he asked.

“Yeah… he thinks… because I told him… he thinks you might be, um, well not ‘might be’— he thinks you’re my ex.”

Oliver’s face went blank. “Why?”

“Because I told him you were…” He coughed. “I’m really sorry. I’m really, really sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

Spencer stopped, couldn't speak, not with Oliver’s lips pressed against his, hot and dry. 

Oliver stepped back looking pensive. He didn’t say a word. Spencer’s fingers touched at his lips and he couldn’t think of a single thing to say either. Only a small whiny breath escaped him, too low to be heard even in the muted bathroom. 

Oliver stepped forward again; Spencer stepped back. “Spence…” 

Spencer gulped. “Oli.”

“I would never be your ex because I would have never let you go,” he said, and the butterflies raged in his stomach again, only this time he didn’t have any alcohol to blame it on. 

In fact, he only had one drink, and so did Oliver, and the whole situation was way too sharp for his liking. 

“I— I—” 

If Oliver was his boyfriend… oh, boy. That’s not good to think about. That’s not good at all. 

Oliver would probably let him call him his boyfriend. Oliver would probably meet his friends and take him to the movie theater like a sappy romance novel. 

“That didn’t come out right—” he mumbled, raking his hand through his hair. 

Oliver probably wouldn’t let him call him Daddy and fuck him until his brain turned to mush, though. 

“It’s okay,” he said. Was it?

“I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”

“Me neither,” Spencer whispered. 

“But I’ve been wanting to kiss you for months. Since we first met…” He blushed. 

Oh— Oliver liked him, actually liked him, had a crush on him and thought about kissing him, liked him? People didn’t _like_ him. People didn’t _crush_ on him. People didn’t _want_ him. 

Oliver did.

“You have?” He finally, finally, flicked his eyes up to meet Oliver’s. 

He nodded. Spencer probably ought to have said something back, but he was all out of things to say. 

Oliver stepped back up close. “Can I do it again?” His breath was hot and minty against his cheek. He placed a small peck on it. 

Spencer nodded. A small whimper ran free as Oliver turned his head and kissed him again, open mouthed this time, and searching. His hands found their way to his cheeks, and Spencer’s own hands hung limply at his sides.

Someone walked in through the door and they both looked up, startled, red lipped, and frozen in their tracks. Some man walked right past them without even a sideways glance and the spell was broken. Oliver dropped his hands, Spencer cleared his throat, and he said, “Ethan is probably looking for us.”

“I— right. He probably is. We should get back out there.” He didn’t step back though, and Spencer didn’t move either. “Ace…”

Spencer's phone buzzed in his pocket, oh! Was it Professor Hotchner?

He fumbled with the cell, ripped it open and his face fell. 

**where r u ?? E.**

Spencer sighed. Of course it wasn’t. “We should go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading! I so appreciate it ❤️


End file.
